Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shores,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me;
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
-Emma Lazarus
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shores,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me;
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
-Emma Lazarus
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