Of all the clever people round me here I most delight in Me – Mine is the only voice I care to hear, And mine the only face I like to see. - Roy Campbell

We shall not meet again: over the wave
Our ways divide, and yours is straight and endless –
But mine is short and crooked to the grave:
Yet what of these dark crowds, amid whose flow
I battle like a rock, aloof and friendless –
Are not their generations, vague and endless,
The waves, the strides, the feet on which I go?

I love to see, when leaves depart,
The clear anatomy arrive,
Winter, the paragon of art,
That kills all forms of life and feeling
Save what is pure and will survive.

The frost stings sweetly with a burning kiss
As intimate as love, as cold as death.