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.

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.

– Emma Lazarus –

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