Thursday, October 15, 2020

I was Saturday years old

Finished reading a book, "Committed to Memory: 100 Best Poems to Memorize". Way too heavy on the 17th and 18th century male writers so I can't really recommend it. It's going in the give away box. 

However, a poem at the beginning struck me. 

Not like the brazen giant of Greek,
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 huddle masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Sen these, the homeless, tempest-post to me,
I life my lamp beside the golden door!"

Here I thought those words were at the beginning of a poem or perhaps the entirety of the poem. Emma Lazarus, The New Colossus

Beverage:  Dark Chocolate Cocoa



1 comment:

  1. Hey! Nice to see you back :)
    Among all the male writers, you have found a good female one ;)
    Hope all is well with you.
    Cheers, Nancy