Words of a bygone era.

Its sad that people don't talk/write of America like they did in the days of old.
The beauty of the time is lost. The twinkle in the eye is gone.
Her Arm is tired and sore. Her banner is tattered and warn.
But yet, for some reason, she stands on.

"Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
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 huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
-Emma Lazarus
(the poem is Inscribed on a plaque in the statue of liberty.)