Of the Surface of Things

I

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.

II

From my balcony, I survey the yellow air,
Reading where I have written,
β€œThe spring is like a belle undressing.”

III

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