"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!"

Question

"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!"

anonymous · Answer

What do you think these lines mean? Who is talking in the poem? What do you think this poem excerpt says about immagration to the u.s in the 1800's. Is this poem still appropiate for immagration today?