Emma Lazarus

  • “o World-god, give me Wealth!” the Egyptian cried.
    His prayer was granted. High as heaven behold
    Palace and Pyramid; the brimming tide
    Of lavish Nile washed all his land with gold.
    Armies of slaves toiled ant-wise at his feet,
    World-circling traffic roared...

  • 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...

  • 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?...

  • Across the Eastern sky has glowed
      The flicker of a blood-red dawn;
    Once more the clarion cock has crowed,
      Once more the sword of Christ is drawn.
    A million burning roof-trees light
    The world-wide path of Israel’s flight.

    Where is the Hebrew’s...

  • Wake, israel, wake! Recall to-day
      The glorious Maccabean rage,
    The sire heroic, hoary-gray,
      His five-fold lion-lineage:
    The Wise, the Elect, the Help-of-God,
    The Burst-of-Spring, the Avenging Rod.

    From Mizpeh’s mountain-ridge they saw...

  • There was a man who watched the river flow
    Past the huge town, one gray November day.
    Round him in narrow high-piled streets at play
    The boys made merry as they saw him go,
    Murmuring half-loud, with eyes upon the stream,
    The immortal screed he held within...

  • 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...

  • The grass of fifty Aprils hath waved green
      Above the spent heart, the Olympian head,
    The hands crost idly, the shut eyes unseen,
      Unseeing, the locked lips whose song hath fled;
    Yet mystic-lived, like some rich, tropic flower,
    His fame puts forth fresh...