Emma Lazarus

Well-nigh two thousand years hath Israel Suffered the scorn of man for love of God;
Endured the outlaw's ban, the yoke, the rod,
With perfect patience
Empires rose and fell,

In rich Virginian woods,
The scarlet creeper reddens over graves,
Among the solemn trees enlooped with vines;
Heroic spirits haunt the solitudes,—The noble souls of half a million braves,

Look
the round-cheeked moon floats high,
In the glowing August sky,
Quenching all her neighbor stars,

So,
Calchas, on the sacred Palatine,
You thought of Mopsus, and o'er wastes of sea A flower brought your message
I divine (Through my deep art) the kindly mockery That played about your lips and in your eyes,

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall standA mighty woman with a torch, whose
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her

Here was a man who watched the river flow Past the huge town, one gray November day
Round him in narrow high-piled streets at
The boys made merry as they saw him go,
Murmuring half-loud, with eyes upon the stream,

"The epochs of our life are not in the facts, but in thesilent thought by the wayside as we walk
"—EmersonI
Youth
Sweet empty sky of June without a stain,

I see it as it looked one afternoon In August,-by a fresh soft breeze o'erblown
The swiftness of the tide, the light thereon,
A far-off sail, white as a crescent moon
The shining waters with pale currents strewn,

Not while the fever of the blood is strong,
The heart throbs loud, the eyes are veiled, no less With passion than with tears, the Muse shall bless The poet-sould to help and soothe with song
Not then she bids his trembling lips express T...

"O World-God, give me Wealth
" the Egyptian cried
His prayer was granted
High as heaven,

Music and silver chimes and sunlit air,
Freighted with the scent of honeyed orange-flower;
Glad, friendly festal faces everywhere
She, rapt from all in this unearthly hour,

Light silken curtain, colorless and soft,
Dreamlike before me floating
what
Behind thy pearly

On a background of pale goldI would trace with quaint design,
Penciled fine,
Brilliant-colored,
Moorish scenes,

1856 Paris, from throats of iron, silver, brass,
Joy-thundering cannon, blent with chiming bells,
And martial strains, the full-voiced pæan swells
The air is starred with flags, the chanted mass Throngs all the churches, yet the bro...

A
AM of lilies: all the blooming earth,
A garden full of fairies and of flowers;
Its only music the glad cry of mirth,

Therefore I dare reveal my private woe,
The secret blots of my imperfect heart,
Nor strive to shrink or swell mine own desert,
Nor beautify nor hide