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In the absence of home
they are here
with hope in their hearts,
their hearts on their sleeves.

The Lady with the Lamp
welcomes them.  Far
from the reach of her light
they dream of touching her hem.

They dream…

They are the tired, the poor,
the huddled masses. I ask you
Who among us would deny them
these promises?

“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!”

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