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Kindle the taper like the steadfast star Ablaze on evening's forehead o'er the earth, And add each night a lustre till afar An eightfold splendor shine above thy hearth.

Emma Lazarus

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Emma Lazarus
Age: 38 †
Born: 1849
Born: July 22
Died: 1887
Died: November 19
Journalist
Poet
Writer
New York City
New York
Emma Lazarus
Stars
Foreheads
Hanukkah
Night
Splendor
Lustre
Earth
Shine
Hearth
Like
Add
Kindle
Till
Kindles
Evening
Forehead
Shining
Afar
Taper
Star
Steadfast
Ablaze

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Poetry must be simple, sensuous, or impassioned.
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I am never going to write for the sake of writing.
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The Jewish problem is as old as history, and assumes in each age a new form. The life or death of millions of human beings hangs upon its solution its agitation revives the fiercest passions for good and for evil that inflame the human breast.
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Let our first care today be the re-establishment of our physical strength, the reconstruction of our national organism, so that in future, where the respect due to us cannot be won by entreaty, it may be commanded, and where it cannot be commanded, it may be enforced.
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Thou two-faced year, Mother of Change and Fate...
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Let our first care today be the re-establishment of our physical strength, the reconstruction of our national organism, so that in future, where the respect due to us cannot be won by entreaty, it may be commanded, and where it cannot be commanded, it may be enforced.
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Jews are the intensive form of any nationality whose language and customs they adopt.
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Thick February mists cling heavily To the dead earth and to each leafless tree, And closer down upon the hilltops draw, Dull forecasts there of bright, sure-coming spring Yet the heart gathers hope and strange delight From this dear, unlovely, wished-for sight Of leaden-misted twilights lengthening.
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There is no comfort looking forth nor back, The present gives the lie to all her past.
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Until we are all free, we are none of us free.
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The soul, at peace, reflects the peace without, Forgetting grief as sunset skies forget The morning's transient shower.
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I seem to have always one little window looking but into life.
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Naught is too small and soft to turn and sting.
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Still ours the dance, the feast, the glorious Psalm, The mystic lights of emblem, and the Word.
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Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
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When angels visit earth, the messengers Of God's decree, they come as lightning, wind: Before the throne, they all are living fire.
Emma Lazarus
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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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