A little on the dark side, no?

Just so ye socks will have some idea of the sort of material I'm sorting thru during the preparation of the Harney anthology, at least when it comes to his poetry, I thought I'd share this little bit composed back in 1858. Many of his contemporaries considered it his best work:

THE STAB

On the road, the lonely road,
Under the cold white moon,
Under the ragged trees he strode;
He whistled and shifted his weary load--
Whistled a foolish tune.

There was a step timed with his own,
A figured that stooped and bowed--
A cold, white blade that gleamed and shone,
Like a splinter of daylight downward thrown--
And the moon went behind a cloud.

But the moon came out so broad and good,
The barn-fowl woke and crowed;
The roughed his feathers in drowsy mood,
And the brown owl called to his mate in the wood,
That a dead man lay on the road.