Far away on the horizon, on cracks in the rock, lies the thunderblack war piled up; the lightnings already twitch, the uncertain ones, And like a stream, swelling with downpours of rain, comes the ruin, drawn on everything that's in place.
The last words to Ulrike
To Ulrike von Kleist, November 21, 1811.
I cannot die without having reconciled myself, content and cheerful as I am, with the whole world, and thus, before all others, my dearest Ulrike, with You. Let it take me back, the strict statement contained in the letter to the Kleistens, let it take me back; really. You have done to me, I do not say what was in the power of a sister but in the power of a man, to save me: the truth is that I could not be helped on earth. And now farewell; may heaven give you a death, only half as much joy and unspeakable serenity as mine: this is the warmest and most intimate desire that I know to arouse for you.
In remembrence of Heinrich von Kleist († 11/21/2019 at Kleiner Wannsee, Berlin)