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C. F. Lummis
(b. 1859)*


A Poe-em of Passion


    IT was many and many a year ago,
       On an island near the sea,
    That a maiden lived whom you mightn't know
       By the name of Cannibalee;
    And this maiden she lived with no other thought
       Than a passionate fondness for me.


    I was a child, and she was a child --
       Tho' her tastes were adult Feejee --
    But she loved with a love that was more than love,
       My yearning Cannibalee,
    With a love that could take me roast or fried
       Or raw, as the case might be.


    And that is the reason that long ago,
       In that island near the sea,
    I had to turn the tables and eat
       My ardent Cannibalee --
    Not really because I was fond of her,
       But to check her fondness for me.


    But the stars never rise but I think of the size
       Of my hot-potted Cannibalee,
    And the moon never stares but it brings me nightmares
       Of my spare-rib Cannibalee;
    And all the night-tide she is restless inside,
    Is my still indigestible dinner-belle bride,
    In her pallid tomb, which is Me,
    In her solemn sepulcher, Me.
* From The World's Wit and Humor, Vol. IV, American, The
Review of Reviews Company, 1910; New York; p. 272.
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