Leuconoe dear, seek not I pray to know
what Heaven hath hid;
The span to me accorded, or to thee
is lore forbid!
Tempt not Chaldean horoscopes! More wise,
what comes, to bear;
Nor fret, whether some winters more from Jove
fall to our share,
Or this, which lashes now the Tuscan shore,
our last decreed.
Be wise and strain the wine! Since shot at best
of joy our meed;
Prune distant hopes. Ev’n as we speak, grim Time
speeds wsift away;
Seize now and here the hour that is, nor trust
some later day!
-Horace, Ode Book I, XI; trans. Dr. John Marshall