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.