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We, too, Helena and I, would find a place in the generous heart of America. Out spirits were high, our eyes filled with tears." Emma Goldman, Living My Life, Vol. 1 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1931), p.11 The New Colossus Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightening, 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 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." Emma Lazarus, 1883
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"The
last day of our journey [to America] comes vividly to my mind. Everybody was on
deck. Helena and I stood pressed to each other, enraptured by the sight of the harbor
and the Statue of Liberty suddenly emerging from the mist. Ah, there she was, the
symbol of hope, of freedom, of opportunity! She held her torch high to light the
way to the free country, the asylum for the oppressed of all lands.