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The Tropics in New York


Bananas ripe and green, and ginger-root,
Cocoa in pods and alligator pears,
And tangerines and mangoes
and grapefruit,
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.

Written by Claude McKay (1891-1948)

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