"Prometheus, are these thy torments? they Are mine! thy soul is quickened with his breath! The living and the dead thou torturest, well-knowing The sensitive, for the insensible creatures And those, the fairest of the living, were Spoilt out of use in early infancy; And all the beauty of the human form Has wasted from the earth, but forms not beautiful."
Prometheus unbound. Percy Bysshe Shelley