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LESLIE COULSON
Sergt., London Regiment, R.F.
(Died of Wounds in France, October, 1916)
"—But a Short Time to Live"
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 give us long,—
One little hour.
One little hour,—how short it is
When Love with dew-eyed loveliness
Raises her lips for ours to kiss
And dies within our first caress.
Youth flickers out like wind-blown flame,
Sweets of to-day to-morrow sour,
For Time and Death relentless claim
Our little hour.
Our little hour,—how short a time
To wage our wars, to fan our hates,
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