dont know The New Colossus Not like the bald-faced giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from grime to take down; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her edit Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged run off that twin cities frame. Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp! cries she With unagitated lips. Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The decrepit refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I tog up my lamp beside the golden door! Bibliography: ...If you want to get a in force(p) essay, order it on our website:
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