T.S. Eliot
Second Caprice in North Cambridge
This charm of vacant lots!
The helpless fields that lie
Sinister, sterile and blind—
Entreat the eye and rack the mind,
Demand your pity.
With ashes and tins in piles,
Shattered bricks and tiles
And the débris of a city.

Far from our definitions
And our aesthetic laws
Let us pause
With these fields that hold and rack the brain
(What: again?)
With an unexpected charm
And an unexplained repose
On an evening in December
Under a sunset yellow and rose.