Mary Shelley’s seal, previously unknown, on one of the unpublished letters recently discovered in an Essex archive. As the Guardian reports, the letters date “between 1831, nine years after the death of her poet husband Percy Bysshe Shelley, and 1849, when Mary Shelley was already unwell with the brain tumour that would kill her two years later.”
ERNEST HEMINGWAY:drunk, wannabe ladies’ man, writer. likes sporting, drinking, being drunk, and travelling. dislikes edgar allan poe and purple prose.
MARY SHELLEY:ex-med student, the most badass person alive, writer. likes science fiction, bad jokes, and pondering the meaning and correlation of/between life and death. dislikes eduardo dantes and injustice.
Thus around the shores of deserted earth, while the sun is high, and the moon waxes or wanes, angels, the spirits of the dead, and the ever-open eye of the Supreme, will behold the tiny bark, freighted with Verney - the LAST MAN.
I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert … Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.
by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 - 1822), as published in Shelley’s Poetry and Prose (1977), suggested by @pomegranatepithos