Odes, Book 1, XI
Tu ne quaesieris (scire nefas) quem mihi, quem tibi
finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios
temptaris numeros. Vt melius quicquid erit pati!
Seu pluris hiemes seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,
quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare 5
Tyrrhenum, sapias, uina liques et spatio breui
spem longam reseces. Dum loquimur, fugerit inuida
aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.
Leuconoë, don’t ask, we never know, what fate the
gods grant us,
whether your fate or mine, don’t waste your time on
Babylonian,
futile, calculations. How much better to suffer what
happens,
whether Jupiter gives us more winters or this is the last
one,
one debilitating the Tyrrhenian Sea on opposing cliffs.
Be wise, and mix the wine, since time is short: limit that
far-reaching hope.
The envious moment is flying now, now, while we’re speaking:
Seize the day, place in the hours that come as little faith
as you can.
Original text: Latin Library: Q. HORATIVS FLACCVS
Translation: A.S. Kline, Poetry in Tranlation: Horace
