"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.''

-- "Of the Surface of Things,'' by the late Wallace Stevens, Hartford insurance executive and Pulitzer Prize-winning poet.