Elizabeth Madox Roberts

From “Talk from the Dust”

WE had to wait for the heat to pass,

And I was lying on the grass,

While Mother sat outside the door,

And I saw how many stars there were.

Beyond the tree, beyond the air,

And more and more were always there.

So many that I think they must

Be sprinkled on the sky like dust.

A dust is coming through the sky!

And I felt myself begin to cry.

So many of them and so small—

Suppose I cannot know them all.