T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). Poems. 1920.
11. Mr. Eliots Sunday Morning Service
P
The sapient sutlers of the Lord
Drift across the window-panes.
In the beginning was the Word.
Superfetation of ,
And at the mensual turn of time
Produced enervate Origen.
Designed upon a gesso ground
The nimbus of the Baptized God.
The wilderness is cracked and browned
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.
Sustained by staring Seraphim
Where the souls of the devout
Burn invisible and dim.
With hairy bellies pass between
The staminate and pistilate,
Blest office of the epicene.
Stirring the water in his bath.
The masters of the subtle schools
Are controversial, polymath.