by bellasemplicita




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