Poetry Classics: Ode 1.11, By Horace
You should not ask, it is unholy to know, for me or for you
what end the gods will have given, O Leuconoe, nor Babylonian
calculations attempt. Much better it is whatever will be to endure,
whether more winters Jupiter has allotted or the last,
which now weakens against opposing rocks the sea
Tyrrhenian: be wise, strain your wines, and because of brief life
cut short long-term hopes. While we are speaking, envious will have fled
a lifetime: seize the day, as little as possible trusting the future.
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