August Night by Elizabeth Madox Roberts — Read

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.