I saw my lady weep, And Sorrow proud to be exalted so In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. Her face was full of woe; But such a woe, believe me, as wins more hearts, Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts.
The individual has become a mere cog in an enormous organization of things and powers which tear from his hands all progress, spirituality, and value in order to transform them from their subjective form into the form of a purely objective life.
