Of the Surface of Things

This drawing was a reaction to this poem



Of the Surface of Things


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.

From my balcony, I survey the yellow air,
Reading where I have written,
'The spring is like a belle undressing.'

The gold tree is blue,
The singer has pulled his cloak over his head.
The moon is in the folds of the cloak.