Classic Poem

Seek not thou, 'tis lore forbidden, what the end by heaven decreed
For my life and thine, nor strive Chaldean horoscopes to read.
Better far, Leuconoe, bear whatever lot for us be cast.
Whether many a winter more Jove grants, or wills to be our last
This that now on rocky barrier hurling tires the Tuscan main,
Tend with wisdom true thy cellar, and to narrow bounds restrain
Hope far aiming. Envious time will while we talk have onward sped.
Snatch to-day, nor in to-morrow e'er to put thy trust be led.