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Give me your tired, your poor.
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
The wretched refuse of your teeming shores.
Send these, the homeless, tempest tossed to me.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
Give us your tired. Give us your poor.
Give us your huddled masses.
Give us your tired. Give us your poor.
But give us the child who years to breathe free.
Give us your tired. Give us your poor.
Give us your huddled masses.
Give us your tired. Give us your poor.
But give us the child who yearns to breathe free.
Give us your tired. Give us your poor.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.