Sorry, flashback to Modern Literature there, I'll be okay. The shock of the poetry actually erased large parts of my memory of the course... either that or the 6" nail I hammered into my forehead to ease the pain one afternoon in lecture...
Eru eru eru seth the noviate
Wildly gibing by the noise-some dock
Has-pash-kath'lemtil is his escusthion
Hang him by the goolies where wath
Hibble gibble, yet more drivel
Dark and dank and seamey under in
Loi-latar Gilthoniel! Elves run amok
Whilst all is measured by the clock
Don't you think old T.S. was a pretentious, depressing, not particulary good, annoying little poet? Quite why it is in the least bit good to fit seven dead languages in almost as many lines, I don't know...
... he should have stuck with Cats