A Poem
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 lightning, 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!"
- 'The New Colossus' (Emma Lazarus)
Britain's American colonies broke with the mother country in 1776 and were recognized as the new nation of the United States of America following the Treaty of Paris in 1783. During the 19th and 20th centuries, 37 new states were added to the origina... ... read more 
