Your Tired, Your Poor, Your….
Via Ezra Klein, Tom Toles:
By the way, the phrase in the title of this post is from a poem called The New Colossus written in 1883 by Emma Lazarus. It was contributed as part of a fundraising effort for the construction of the statue’s pedestal. Later it was inscribed on a plaque inside the statue. Here’s the whole thing:
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
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