The Tropics in New York

Bananas ripe and green, and ginger-root,

         Cocoa in pods and alligator pears,

And tangerines and mangoes and grape fruit,

         Fit for the highest prize at parish fairs,

Set in the window, bringing memories

         Of fruit-trees laden by low-singing rills,

And dewy dawns, and mystical blue skies

         In benediction over nun-like hills.

My eyes grew dim, and I could no more gaze;

         A wave of longing through my body swept,

And, hungry for the old, familiar ways,

         I turned aside and bowed my head and wept.