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Ode I. 11

 

Leucon, no one's allowed to know his fate,

Not you, not me: don't ask, don't hunt for answers

In tea leaves or palms. Be patient with whatever comes.

This could be our last winter, it could be many

More, pounding the Tuscan Sea on these rocks:

Do what you must, be wise, cut your vines

And forget about hope. Time goes running, even

As we talk. Take the present, the future's no one's affair.

 

~ Horace ~

 

(The Essential Horace, edited and translated by Burton Raffel)