<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447501" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>But a short time to live</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our little hour,—how swift it flies <br>When poppies flare and lilies smile; <br>How soon the fleeting minute dies, <br>Leaving us but a little while <br>To dream our dream, to sing our song, <br>To pick the fruit, to pluck the flower, <br>The Gods—They do not give us long,— <br>One little hour. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our little hour,—how short it is <br>When Love with dew-eyed loveliness <br>Raises her lips for ours to kiss <br>And dies within our first caress. <br>Youth flickers out like wind-blown flame, <br>Sweets of to-day to-morrow sour, <br>For Time and Death, relentless, claim <br>Our little hour. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our little hour,—how short a time <br>To wage our wars, to fan our hates, <br>To take our fill of armoured crime, <br>To troop our banners, storm the gates. <br>Blood on the sword, our eyes blood-red, <br>Blind in our puny reign of power, <br>Do we forget how soon is sped <br>Our little hour? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our little hour,—how soon it dies: <br>How short a time to tell our beads, <br>To chant our feeble Litanies, <br>To think sweet thoughts, to do good deeds. <br>The altar lights grow pale and dim, <br>The bells hang silent in the tower— <br>So passes with the dying hymn <br>Our little hour.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Leslie+Coulson">Leslie Coulson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447501" data-title="But a short time to live de Leslie Coulson" data-description="Our little hour,—how swift it flies When poppies flare and lilies smile; How soon the fleeting minute dies, Leaving us but a little while To dream our dream, to sing our song, To pick the fruit, to pluck the flower, The Gods—They do not ..."></div> </div> </div>

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