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 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 .

"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,

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