Horace (8 December 65 BC – 27 November 8 BC / Italy)
BkI:XI Carpe Diem
Leuconoë, don’t ask, we never know, what fate the gods grant us,
whether your fate or mine, don’t waste your time on Babylonian,
futile, calculations. How much better to suffer what happens,
whether Jupiter gives us more winters or this is the last one,
one debilitating the Tyrrhenian Sea on opposing cliffs.
Be wise, and mix the wine, since time is short: limit that far-reaching hope.
The envious moment is flying now, now, while we’re speaking:
Seize the day, place in the hours that come as little faith as you can.
Poet Other Poems
- BkI:I The Dedication: To Maecenas
- BkI:II To Augustus
- BkI:III Virgil: Off to Greece
- BkI:IV Spring
- BkI:IX Winter
- BkI:V Treacherous Girl
- BkI:VI A Tribute to Agrippa
- BkI:VII Tibur
- BkI:VIII: To Lydia: Stop Ruining Sybaris...
- BkI:X To Mercury
- BkI:XI Carpe Diem
- BkI:XII Praising Augustus
- BkI:XIII His Jealousy
- BkI:XIV The Ship of State
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (BkI:XIV The Ship of State by Horace )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley