Do not wonder long, Leucone, for no man can know his fate,
Nor what the gods have planned for you or me.
There are no answers in the numbers of Babylon
Or in the foolish divining of palms and tea leaves.
Better to endure whatever life brings! For whether
Jove will bestow many more winters or only this one,
Which even now wears cliffs away with the Tuscan sea,
Be wise, strain the wine and curtail your distant dreams.
For even while we speak time spitefully flees:
Seize the day! Trust little in the morrow.