Treasure Island

Emma Lazarus

(22 July 1849 – 19 November 1887 / New York City / United States)

Quotations

  • ''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.''
    Emma Lazarus (1849-1887), U.S. poet. The New Colossus (l. 1-8). . . America in Poetry. Charles Sullivan, ed. (1988) Harry N. Abrams.
    49 person liked.
    15 person did not like.
  • ''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.''
    Emma Lazarus (1849-1887), U.S. poet. The New Colossus.
  • ''"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."''
    Emma Lazarus (1849-1887), U.S. poet. The New Colossus (1886). Written for inscription on the Statue of Liberty.
  • ''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 (1849-1887), U.S. poet. The New Colossus (l. 10-14). . . America in Poetry. Charles Sullivan, ed. (1988) Harry N. Abrams.
  • ''Still on Israel's head forlorn,
    Every nation heaps its scorn.''
    Emma Lazarus (1849-1887), U.S. poet. The World's Justice.

Read more quotations »

Destiny

1856

Paris, from throats of iron, silver, brass,
Joy-thundering cannon, blent with chiming bells,
And martial strains, the full-voiced pæan swells.
The air is starred with flags, the chanted mass
Throngs all the churches, yet the broad streets swarm
With glad-eyed groups who chatter, laugh, and pass,
In holiday confusion, class with class.

[Hata Bildir]