[line breaks restored]
> The New Colossus
>
> 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-tossed, to me,
> I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
It's a really nice poem, a sonnet as a matter of fact, and one I love to remember. Every so often I have the opportunity to sail a little boat under the Brooklyn Bridge and every time, I think of that line, "The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame".
There are things so well-known it's easy to forget how good they are. What a shame we haven't lived up to her hopes -- just another dreary empire now, deeply engaged in cavity-searches.
--
Michael Smith mjs at smithbowen.net http://stopmebeforeivoteagain.org http://fakesprogress.blogspot.com
"I am in favor of leaving people alone, no matter how imperfect their polity may seem." -- Stephen Maturin, MD