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<blockquote><a href="http://quotationsbook.com/quote/20552/">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-tossed, to me; I lift my lamp beside the golden door.</a></blockquote><br> <a href="http://quotationsbook.com/quotes/author/4270/">Lazarus, Emma</a> on <a href="http://quotationsbook.com/quotes/tag/immigration/">immigration</a><br> Quote from <a href="http://quotationsbook.com">Quotations Book</a>