Dwell, awful Silence, on the shady hills
Among the bleating flocks, and purling rills,
When Pan the reed doth to his lips apply,
Inspiring it with sacred harmony.
Hydriads, and Hamadryads at that sound
In a well order’d measure beat the ground.
“Capitalism has grooved society with a number of deep slots along which human beings can roll to a fixed destination. When a man takes charge of a factory the factory takes charge of him.”