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Best Famous Emma Lazarus Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Emma Lazarus poems. This is a select list of the best famous Emma Lazarus poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Emma Lazarus poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Emma Lazarus poems.

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Written by Emma Lazarus | |

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!"


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

The New Ezekiel

  What, can these dead bones live, whose sap is dried 
By twenty scorching centuries of wrong? 
Is this the House of Israel, whose pride 
Is as a tale that's told, an ancient song? 
Are these ignoble relics all that live 
Of psalmist, priest, and prophet? Can the breath 
Of very heaven bid these bones revive, 
Open the graves and clothe the ribs of death? 

Yea, Prophesy, the Lord hath said.
Again Say to the wind, Come forth and breathe afresh, Even that they may live upon these slain, And bone to bone shall leap, and flesh to flesh.
The Spirit is not dead, proclaim the word, Where lay dead bones, a host of armed men stand! I ope your graves, my people, saith the Lord, And I shall place you living in your land.


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

To R.W.E.

 As when a father dies, his children draw 
About the empty hearth, their loss to cheat 
With uttered praise & love, & oft repeat 
His all-familiar words with whispered awe.
The honored habit of his daily law, Not for his sake, but theirs whose feeble feet Need still that guiding lamp, whose faith, less sweet, Misses that tempered patience without flaw, So do we gather round thy vacant chair, In thine own elm-roofed, amber-rivered town, Master & Father! For the love we bear, Not for thy fame's sake, do we weave this crown, And feel thy presence in the sacred air, Forbidding us to weep that thou art gone.


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Written by Emma Lazarus | |

St Michaels Chapel

 When the vexed hubbub of our world of gain 
Roars round about me as I walk the street, 
The myriad noise of Traffic, and the beat 
Of Toil's incessant hammer, the fierce strain 
Of struggle hand to hand and brain to brain, 
Ofttimes a sudden dream my sense will cheat, 
The gaudy shops, the sky-piled roofs retreat, 
And all at once I stand enthralled again 
Within a marble minster over-seas.
I watch the solemn gold-stained gloom that creeps To kiss an alabaster tomb, where sleeps A lady 'twixt two knights' stone effigies, And every day in dusky glory steeps Their sculptured slumber of five centuries.


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

Venus of the Louvre

 Down the long hall she glistens like a star, 
The foam-born mother of Love, transfixed to stone, 
Yet none the less immortal, breathing on.
Time's brutal hand hath maimed but could not mar.
When first the enthralled enchantress from afar Dazzled mine eyes, I saw not her alone, Serenely poised on her world-worshipped throne, As when she guided once her dove-drawn car,-- But at her feet a pale, death-stricken Jew, Her life adorer, sobbed farewell to love.
Here Heine wept! Here still he weeps anew, Nor ever shall his shadow lift or move, While mourns one ardent heart, one poet-brain, For vanished Hellas and Hebraic plain.


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

The Supreme Sacrifice

 Well-nigh two thousand years hath Israel 
Suffered the scorn of man for love of God; 
Endured the outlaw's ban, the yoke, the rod, 
With perfect patience.
Empires rose and fell, Around him Nebo was adored and Bel; Edom was drunk with victory, and trod On his high places, while the sacred sod Was desecrated by the infidel.
His faith proved steadfast, without breach or flaw, But now the last renouncement is required.
His truth prevails, his God is God, his Law Is found the wisdom most to be desired.
Not his the glory! He, maligned, misknown, Bows his meek head, and says, "Thy will be done!"


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

Echoes

 Late-born and woman-souled I dare not hope, 
The freshness of the elder lays, the might 
Of manly, modern passion shall alight 
Upon my Muse's lips, nor may I cope 
(Who veiled and screened by womanhood must grope) 
With the world's strong-armed warriors and recite 
The dangers, wounds, and triumphs of the fight; 
Twanging the full-stringed lyre through all its scope.
But if thou ever in some lake-floored cave O'erbrowed by rocks, a wild voice wooed and heard, Answering at once from heaven and earth and wave, Lending elf-music to thy harshest word, Misprize thou not these echoes that belong To one in love with solitude and song.


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

Echoes

 THE MIGHT that shaped itself through storm and stress
In chaos, here is lulled in breathing sweet;
Under the long brown ridge in gentleness
 Its fierce old pulses beat.
Quiet and sad we go at eve; the fire That woke exultant in an earlier day Is dead; the memories of old desire Only in shadows play.
We liken love to this and that; our thought The echo of a deeper being seems: We kiss, because God once for beauty sought Within a world of dreams.


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

The Taming of the Falcon

 The bird sits spelled upon the lithe brown wrist 
Of yonder turbaned fowler, who had lamed 
No feather limb, but the winged spirit tamed 
With his compelling eye.
He need not trust The silken coil, not set the thick-limed snare; He lures the wanderer with his steadfast gaze, It shrinks, it quails, it trembles yet obeys.
And, lo! he has enslaved the thing of air.
The fixed, insistent human will is lord Of all the earth;--but in the awful sky Reigns absolute, unreached by deed or word Above creation; through eternity, Outshining the sun's shield, the lightening's sword, The might of Allah's unaverted eye.


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

Long Island Sound

 I see it as it looked one afternoon 
In August,-by a fresh soft breeze o'erblown.
The swiftness of the tide, the light thereon, A far-off sail, white as a crescent moon.
The shining waters with pale currents strewn, The quiet fishing-smacks, the Eastern cove, The semi-circle of its dark, green grove.
The luminous grasses, and the merry sun In the grave sky; the sparkle far and wide, Laughter of unseen children, cheerful chirp Of crickets, and low lisp of rippling tide, Light summer clouds fantastical as sleep Changing unnoted while I gazed thereon.
All these fair sounds and sights I made my own.


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

Success

 Oft have I brooded on defeat and pain, 
The pathos of the stupid, stumbling throng.
These I ignore to-day and only long To pour my soul forth in one trumpet strain, One clear, grief-shattering, triumphant song, For all the victories of man's high endeavor, Palm-bearing, laurel deeds that live forever, The splendor clothing him whose will is strong.
Hast thou beheld the deep, glad eyes of one Who has persisted and achieved? Rejoice! On naught diviner shines the all-seeing sun.
Salute him with free heart and choral voice, 'Midst flippant, feeble crowds of spectres wan, The bold, significant, successful man.


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

From One Augur to Another

 So, Calchas, on the sacred Palatine, 
You thought of Mopsus, and o'er wastes of sea 
A flower brought your message.
I divine (Through my deep art) the kindly mockery That played about your lips and in your eyes, Plucking the frail leaf, while you dreamed of home.
Thanks for the silent greeting! I shall prize, Beyond June's rose, the scentless flower of Rome.
All the Campagna spreads before my sight, The mouldering wall, the Caesars' tombs unwreathed, Rome and the Tiber, and the yellow light, Wherein the honey-colored blossom breathed.
But most I thank it--egoists that we be! For proving then and there you thought of me.


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

Chopin

 I

A dream of interlinking hands, of feet 
Tireless to spin the unseen, fairy woof 
Of the entangling waltz.
Bright eyebeams meet, Gay laughter echoes from the vaulted roof.
Warm perfumes rise; the soft unflickering glow Of branching lights sets off the changeful charms Of glancing gems, rich stuffs, the dazzling snow Of necks unkerchieft, and bare, clinging arms.
Hark to the music! How beneath the strain Of reckless revelry, vibrates and sobs One fundamental chord of constant pain, The pulse-beat of the poet's heart that throbs.
So yearns, though all the dancing waves rejoice, The troubled sea's disconsolate, deep voice.
II Who shall proclaim the golden fable false Of Orpheus' miracles? This subtle strain Above our prose-world's sordid loss and gain Lightly uplifts us.
With the rhythmic waltz, The lyric prelude, the nocturnal song Of love and languor, varied visions rise, That melt and blend to our enchanted eyes.
The Polish poet who sleeps silenced long, The seraph-souled musician, breathes again Eternal eloquence, immortal pain.
Revived the exalted face we know so well, The illuminated eyes, the fragile frame, Slowly consuming with its inward flame, We stir not, speak not, lest we break the spell.
III A voice was needed, sweet and true and fine As the sad spirit of the evening breeze, Throbbing with human passion, yet devine As the wild bird's untutored melodies.
A voice for him 'neath twilight heavens dim, Who mourneth for his dead, while round him fall The wan and noiseless leaves.
A voice for him Who sees the first green sprout, who hears the call Of the first robin on the first spring day.
A voice for all whom Fate hath set apart, Who, still misprized, must perish by the way, Longing with love, for that they lack the art Of their own soul's expression.
For all these Sing the unspoken hope, the vague, sad reveries.
IV Then Nature shaped a poet's heart--a lyre From out whose chords the lightest breeze that blows Drew trembling music, wakening sweet desire.
How shall she cherish him? Behold! she throws This precious, fragile treasure in the whirl Of seething passions; he is scourged and stung, Must dive in storm-vext seas, if but one pearl Of art or beauty therefrom may be wrung.
No pure-browed pensive nymph his Muse shall be, An amazon of thought with sovereign eyes, Whose kiss was poison, man-brained, worldy-wise, Inspired that elfin, delicate harmony.
Rich gain for us! But with him is it well? The poet who must sound earth, heaven, and hell!


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

City Visions

 I

As the blind Milton's memory of light, 
The deaf Beethoven's phantasy of tone, 
Wroght joys for them surpassing all things known 
In our restricted sphere of sound and sight,-- 
So while the glaring streets of brick and stone 
Vix with heat, noise, and dust from morn till night, 
I will give rein to Fancy, taking flight 
From dismal now and here, and dwell alone 
With new-enfranchised senses.
All day long, Think ye 't is I, who sit 'twixt darkened walls, While ye chase beauty over land and sea? Uplift on wings of some rare poet's song Where the wide billow laughs and leaps and falls, I soar cloud-high, free as the winds are free.
II Who grasps the substance? who 'mid shadows strays? He who within some dark-bright wood reclines, 'Twixt sleep and waking, where the needled pines Have cushioned al his couch with soft brown sprays? He notes not how the living water shines, Trembling along the cliff, a flickering haze, Brimming a wine-bright pool, nor lifts his gaze To read the ancient wonders and the signs.
Does he possess the actual, or do I, Who paint on air more than his sense receives, The glittering pine-tufts with closed eyes behold, Breathe the strong resinous perfume, see the sky Quiver like azure flame between the leaves, And open unseen gates with key of gold?


Written by Emma Lazarus | |

Critic and Poet: an Epilogue

 No man had ever heard a nightingale, 
When once a keen-eyed naturalist was stirred 
To study and define--what is a bird, 
To classify by rote and book, nor fail 
To mark its structure and to note the scale 
Whereon its song might possibly be heard.
Thus far, no farther;--so he spake the word.
When of a sudden,--hark, the nightingale! Oh deeper, higher than he could divine That all-unearthly, untaught strain! He saw The plain, brown warbler, unabashed.
"Not mine" (He cried) "the error of this fatal flaw.
No bird is this, it soars beyond my line, Were it a bird, 'twould answer to my law.
"