The New Large One by the Bay

 Not like the most large bronze man of Greek fame,
 With limbs that lord it from the land to land;
 Here at our washed by sea west gates shall stand
 A dame of might with a torch in hand, whose flame
 Is the trapped spark made to work, her name
 The Mom of Those Cast Out.  Now from that hand
 Glows "Come in!" to the world; her mild eyes pan
 The bay that's bridged by air, that two towns frame.
 "Keep, Old World, your oft told pomp!" cries she
 With dumb lips.  "Give me your worn out, your poor,
 Your hunched up men who yearn now to breathe free,
 The too sad cast offs of your clogged up shore.
 Send these, who are sans home, storm tossed, to me,
 I lift my lamp next to the gold wrought door."

                                -- Em Once-Dead