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
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.
dutchhillfarm 
I had never read the Wallace Stevens poem ~ perfection!
Mary Ann, here is another from the same book:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15746
Beautiful.
I love this poem. Thanks for sharing it.