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.