Mary Shelley’s handwritten poem “Absence”, on the death of her husband. "Ah! he is gone — and I alone; How dark and dreary seems the time! ‘Tis Thus, when the glad sun is flown, Night rushes o’er the Indian clime. Is there no star to cheer this night No soothing twilight for the breast? Yes, Memory sheds her fairy light, Pleasing as sunset’s golden west. ... "