Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow

That lies on Dian’s lap! thou visible god,

That solder’st close impossibilities,

And mak’st them kiss; that speak’st with every tongue,

To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts!

Think, thy slave, man, rebels; and by thy virtue

Set them into confounding odds, that beasts

May have the world in empire.

The Theory of the Leisure Class[Y]

By Thorstein Veblen