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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 tossed to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
Emma Lazarus
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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 tossed to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

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