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 kings,
While 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 hour,
Sees happiness from utter desolation grow.
Boethius, Roman scholar, 480-524 AD