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-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
Emma Lazarus, “The New Colossus” (via unfolded-proteins)
There aren’t a lot of things that make me patriotic, but this is one of them. It is an ideal that we [ought to] aspire to. I pronounce no judgements upon history; I simply say, in a perfect world, America is a place where the rootless can put down roots. Also this is a beautiful bit of poetry.