Thought Question (Early Rome)
Pry not in forbidden lore,
Ask no more, Leuconoë,
How many years—to you?—to me?—
The gods will send us
Before they end us;
Nor, questing, fix your hopes
On Babylonian horoscopes.
Learn to accept whatever is to be:
Whether Jove grant us many winters,
Or make of this the last, which splinters
Now on opposing cliffs the Tuscan sea.
Be wise; decant your wine; condense
Large aims to fit life’s cramped circumference.
We talk, time flies—you’ve said it!
Make hay today,
Tomorrow rates no credit.
Thought Question (Early Rome) Pry not in forbidden lore, Ask no more, Leuconoë, How many years—to you?—to me?— The gods
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