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 man with a pen, whose ink
is the imprisoned lightning, and his name
Lord of Yes-men.
From his smallish-hands
decrees, summons, and repeals worthy of world-wide rebuke; his hawkish eyes command the foggy harbor that two cities frame.
“Brand ancient lands with my storied pomp!” yells he with a loud mouth.
Give me your corrupt, your rich.
Your huddled lobbyists yearning to deal free,
The glorious elites of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed away from me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden elevator!