The Tropics of 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,

Sat in the window, bringing memories

     of fruit-trees laden by low-singing rills,

And dewy dawns, and mystical skies

     In benediction over nun-like hills.

My eyes grow 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.