General Poetry posted October 1, 2024 |
Sonnet on Theme of Betrayal
Our Book
by kiwisteveh
|
Betrayal Poetry Contest contest entry
Recognized |
I am not American. I have used poetic licence for the purpose of this poem.
'huddled masses' line 7 is of course a quote from 'The New Colossus,' the wonderful sonnet penned by American poet Emily Lazarus. The poem is inscribed on a brass plaque inside the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. The words refer to the large number of immigrants pouring into New York in the 1880s and to immigrants in general.
Here is the poem in full:
The New Colossus
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!"
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(and maybe more). 'huddled masses' line 7 is of course a quote from 'The New Colossus,' the wonderful sonnet penned by American poet Emily Lazarus. The poem is inscribed on a brass plaque inside the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. The words refer to the large number of immigrants pouring into New York in the 1880s and to immigrants in general.
Here is the poem in full:
The New Colossus
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!"
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