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.

My own curiosity and interest are insatiable.

Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

Until we are all free, we are none of us free.

Let our first care today be the re-establishment of our physical strength, the reconstruction of our national organism, so that in future, where the respect due to us cannot be won by entreaty, it may be commanded, and where it cannot be commanded, it may be enforced.

Thou two-faced year, Mother of Change and Fate...

Still ours the dance, the feast, the glorious Psalm, The mystic lights of emblem, and the Word.