In American (Literature) Survey, Tim Dayton walked us through Emma Lazarus’ famous poem, "The New Colossus."

Not 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 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 of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

Yeah, sure, it’s got that last part we all know, but I won’t even pretend like I would recognize anything about the first bit before today. Dayton understands how it goes. "Now you’ve seen the whole thing. You can feel smug about it," he said. "Unless you feel that way all the time." Zing! It’s like he read my horoscope.

Anyway. English majors can skip this next bit:

It’s a Petrarchan (Italian) sonnet, as opposed to a Shakespearian (English) sonnet. What makes it Petrarchan is the "8/6" structure. The first eight lines (an octave) set up an issue, which is reconciled in the last six lines (a sestet). There is a rhyme scheme. The sestet follows a pattern of either "cdcdcd" or cdecde." The octave’s pattern goes "abbaabba." See that? ABBA. Twice.

"To this day we are haunted by that band that bears this name," Dayton said.

"In all my years of teaching this course, I never thought I would be confronted by such a horrid reality."