The New Colossus

Emma Lazarus 1883
( Revised edition for Millennium 2000 )


Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our shit-washed, sunset gates still stands
An old toothless woman with a torch, whose flame
Is spent, diminished lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiled Criminals. From her beacon-hand
Glows reluctant welcome, her rheumy eyes command
The polluted harbour that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your scrounging pimps!” moans she
With silent lips. “Give me no more your tired, your poor,
Your shiftless, unwashed masses yearning to eat for free,
The wretched mongrel refuse of your teeming shore.
Your Mafioso Wops and Arab Islamic terrorist spore,
Send not these, or other homeless heathen felons, to me,
I snuff out my lamp and lock fast this golden door !”