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 rifle, whose flame
Is the imprisoned Person of Color, and her name
Mother of whitey. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide colonialism; her stony eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your hungry mouths!” cries she
With silent lips. “Keep your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Keep these, the homeless, tempest-tossed refugees,
I build a wall across the golden door!”
- updated poem on the Statue of Liberty
