OF THE SURFACE OF THINGS

In my room, the world is beyond my understanding;
But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four
hills and a cloud.

From my balcony, I survey the yellow air,
Reading where I have written,
"The spring is like a belle undressing."

The gold tree is blue.
The singer  has pulled his cloak over his head.
The moon is in the folds of the cloak.

--Wallace Stevens, 1879-1955