Emma Lazarus (1849–1887)

WHEN the stunned soul can first lift tired eyes

On her changed world of ruin, waste, and wrack,

Ah, what a pang of aching sharp surprise

Brings all sweet memories of the lost past back,

With wild self-pitying grief of one betrayed,

Duped in a land of dreams where Truth is dead!

Are these the heavens that she deemed were kind?

Is this the world that yesterday was fair?

What painted images of folk half-blind

Be these who pass her by, as vague as air?

What go they seeking? there is naught to find.

Let them come nigh and hearken her despair….