Leuconoe, why try to know
The future, which cannot be known?
Or what the Assyrian numbers say
Of your fate and my own?
Put it away, don’t waste your time,
Winter will come on
And break the lower sea on the rocks
While we drink summer’s wine.
See, in the white of the winter air
The day hangs like a rose.
It droops down to the reaching hand
Take it before it goes.
(Odes I.11)
The Poem is Written By Quintus Horatius Flaccus also known as Horace and translated by Thomas McEvilley. The poem is originally written in Latin.
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