This well-feigned trance, this still and <br />stupored sleep <br />is aptly timed, and nobly fits the scheme. <br />The cloud-encircled Sword with Night may creep <br />Beside the gates, and catch the world adream, <br />Snatching as life before the sluggish breath <br />Awakes to morning and to vultured death, <br />Till Craft appeared, the blunted Grecian spears <br />That scratched at Troy, and all the blistered <br />Hands <br />That tore at stones and prayed upon the sands <br />Were weak and vain, and vain the bloody years. <br />Oh, let the winds take up the heavy tones <br />Of sleeping. Move within a mist! Shun light! <br />Then swing the hidden weapon once, and smite, <br />And gaze with laughter on the slaughtered throne.<br /><br />Leon Gellert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-advice-of-treachery/
