the new colossus

I pray for all refugees, all homeless, all the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. I pray for the tired and the hopeless, and those that, in thinking they could find a friend, were turned away. 

“‘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!'”

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