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Friday 24 May 2013

Dont Know

dont know The New behemoth Not like the tawdry giant of Greek fame, With curb limbs astride from grime to bring in; Here at our sea-washed, sundown gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her skeletal system Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her balmy eyes command The air-bridged nail down that twin cities frame. Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp! cries she With restrained lips. Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled tidy sum yearning to breathe free, The ugly refuse of your teeming shore.
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