Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi
finem di dederunt, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios
temptaris numeros. ut melius, quidquit erit, pati,
seu plures hiemes seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,
quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare
Tyrrhenum: sapias, vina liques et spatio brevi
spem longam reseces. dum loquimur, fugerit invida
aetas: carpe diem quam minimum credula postero.

Q. Horatius Flaccus, Carmina

The following is my non-poetic translation. I'll revise it after I become a poet:

Don't question what ends the gods have in store for me and you, Leuconoe, and don't mess with Babylonian numerology. It's much better just to submit to it, whatever is to come, whether Jove has many winters in store for you, or whether this is your last--even now as the Tyrrhenian sea breaks upon the rocks. So be wise, pour the wine, and check your long hopes to this brief moment. For while we talk, precious time passes us by: sieze the day with as little faith in the future as possible.

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