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Land of the free, home of the brave ... |
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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!" -- poet Emma
Lazarus, re: Statue of |
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