You should not ask, to know’s forbidden, what end to me, to you,

the gods have given, Leuconoe, and do not attempt

Babylonian calculation. How better to endure whatever

will happen, whether Jupiter offers more winters,

or this is the last, which right now is eroding the Tyrrhenian Sea

with its pumice cliffs: Be wise, strain wines, and in this brief allotment

prune back long hope. While we speak, invidious age

will have fled: carpe diem, and trust least in what comes next.