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. Bantams in Pine-Woods
2. To the One of Fictive Music
3. Nomad Exquisite
4. Valley Candle
5. Continual Conversation with a Silent Man

Print

1150 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version