Being in my office with no poetry books handy, one of the few I know by heart:

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conqu'ring limbs astride from land to land,
Here by our sea-washed sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is th'emprisoned lightning, and her name,
Mother of exiles. From her beacon hand
Flows 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-tossed, to me!
I lift my lamp beside the golden door."

- Emma Lazarus

(The inscription on the Statue of Liberty)