Explore "Mr. Eliot's Sunday Morning Service" by T.S. Eliot on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Look, look, master, here comes two religious caterpillars.
The Jew of Malta / Polyphiloprogenitive / The sapient sutlers of the Lord / Drift across the windowpanes.
In the beginning was the Word.
In the beginning was the Word.
Superfetation of τὸ ἕν, / And at the mensual turn of time / Produced enervate Origen.
A painter of the Umbrian school / Designed upon a gesso ground / The nimbus of the Baptized God.
The wilderness is cracked and browned / But through the water pale and thin / Still shine the unoffending feet / And there above the painter set / The Father and the Paraclete.
The sable presbyters approach / The avenue of penitence; / The young are red and pustular / Clutching piaculative pence.
Under the penitential gates / Sustained by staring Seraphim / Where the souls of the devout / Burn invisible and dim.
Along the garden-wall the bees / With hairy bellies pass between / The staminate and pistilate, / Blest office of the epicene.
Sweeney shifts from ham to ham / Stirring the water in his bath.
The masters of the subtle schools / Are controversial, polymath.