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