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...A DIVINE IMAGE, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG by OLIVER GOLDSMITH PICTURES FROM APPLEDORE: 5 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL RIFLEMAN FORM! by ALFRED TENNYSON WINTER MEMORIES by HENRY DAVID THOREAU SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 29. CHRIST AND ENGLAND by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |