The Tropics of New York

    Bananas ripe and green， and ginger¹ root

    Cocoa in pods and alligator² 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 laden³ by low-singing rills，

    And dewy dawns， and mystical skies

    In benediction⁴ over nun-like hills.

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

    A wave of longing⁵ through my body swept，

    And， hungry for the old， familiar ways

    I turned aside and bowed my head and wept.