Poems

You should not seek--knowing is sin--what end for me or you
the gods have set, Leuconoe, nor study Babylonian
astrology. It's better just to endure whatever happens,
if Jove allots even more winters or this final one,
which even now on the opposing cliffs wears out the sea
of Tuscany. Be wise, filter the wine. Prune back long hope
to fit life's narrow span. While we are speaking, jealous time
has fled. Harvest the day. Don't count at all upon tomorrow.