out of all of america's symbols, none has proved more enduring or evocative than the statue of liberty. this giant figure, torch in hand and clutching a stone tablet, has for a century acted as a figurehead for the american dream; indeed there is probably no more immediately recognizable profile in existence. it's worth remembering that the statue is - for americans at least - a potent reminder that the usa is a land of immigrants: it was new york harbor where the first big waves of european immigrants arrived, their ships entering through the verrazano narrows to round the bend of the bay and catch a first glimpse of "liberty enlightening the world" - an end of their journey into the unknown, and the symbolic beginning of a new life.

　　these days, although only the very wealthy can afford to arrive here by sea, and a would-be immigrant's first (and possibly last) view of the states is more likely to be the customs check at jfk airport, liberty remains a stirring sight, with emma lazarus's poem, the new colossus, written originally to raise funds for the statue's base, no less quotable than when it was written...

　　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 to your teeming shore. send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, i lift my lamp beside the golden door."

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（实习编辑：高奕飞）