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.
Mine 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.