| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | August Night | | By 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, | 5 |
| 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. | 10 |
| |
| So many of them and so small— | |
| Suppose I cannot know them all. | | | | |
|
|
