| The New Colossus Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea washed, sunser 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, acient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she With silent lips. "Give me your tierd, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest toast to me, I lift my lamp beside the goldent door!" ---Emma Lazrus |
| Paradoxes: Sane in an Insane World |
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| People have visted since June 2001 |