With domineering hand she moves the turning wheel,<br />Like currents in a treacherous bay swept to and fro:<br />Her ruthless will has just deposed once fearful kings<br />While trustless still, from low she lifts a conquered head;<br />No cries of misery she hears, no tears she heeds,<br />But steely hearted laughs at groans her deeds have wrung.<br />Such is a game she plays, and so she tests her strength;<br />Of mighty power she makes parade when one short hour<br />Sees happiness from utter desolation grow.<br />(A Consolation of Philosophy, Book II, translated by V.E. Watts)