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.