RESULTS:

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, Sende these, the homeless, tempest-post to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door ! "

by Emma Lazarus, New York City, 1883

SOURCE:

<IMG SRC="statue_liberty.gif" ALIGN=LEFT> 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.
<BR CLEAR=LEFT>
From her beacon-hand Glows world wide-welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame,
<BR>
" 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, Sende these, the homeless, tempest-post to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door ! " <P> by Emma Lazarus, New York City, 1883