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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE SALE OF MY FARM by ROBERT FROST THE UNDERGRADUATE KILLED IN BATTLE; OXFORD, 1915 by GEORGE SANTAYANA FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF JOHN KEATS' DEATH by SARA TEASDALE PARIS IN SPRING by SARA TEASDALE |