We speak of them as but a crazy bunch Of huddled immigrants, and we forget What dreams have crumbled, how with woe beset They crouch here, crowded, garrulous, and munch Their moldy crusts, their promised land denied. Through dreary years they planned and saved and dreamed Against the time that long in coming seemed, That come, will neither home nor friends provide. They had been told that freedom here is found, That great goodwill is ever manifest, The poor not scorned, the helpless never crushed. Heart-stricken now, confused by word and sound, They seem like frightened animals ambushed, Awaiting what were idle to protest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 112. GIBRALTAR by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ON SOMETHING THAT WALKS SOMEWHERE by BEN JONSON THE WHITE SHIPS AND THE RED by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST by RUDYARD KIPLING THE PRINCESS: SONG by ALFRED TENNYSON |