Poem by Wallace Stevens

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,
"The 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.

1. Phases
2. Infanta Marina
3. The Man on the Dump
4. Indian River
5. Nuances of a Theme by Williams

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