Emma Lazarus · USA · 1883
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-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
“Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,…”
Unlike the ancient Colossus of Rhodes — that symbol of military conquest — here at America''s ocean gateway stands a different kind of giant: a woman holding a torch of lightning. Her name is Mother of Exiles. Her beacon offers a welcome to the entire world.
“"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she…”
She says to the old empires of Europe: "Keep your glamour and your history." Then she calls to the world''s desperate people: "Bring me your exhausted, your destitute, your oppressed masses who just want to be free. I hold my lamp up at the door of gold — for them."
Why this poem matters
Written to raise money for the Statue of Liberty's pedestal, it was largely forgotten until 1903 when engraved inside the pedestal — transforming the Statue's meaning to a beacon for immigrants.