Death

Come thou, thou last one, whom I recognize,

unbearable pain throughout this body's fabric:

as I in my spirit burned, see, I now burn in thee:

the wood that long resisted the advancing flames

which thou kept flaring, I now am nourishinig

and burn in thee.

My gentle and mild being through thy ruthless fury

has turned into a raging hell that is not from here.

Quite pure, quite free of future planning, I mounted

the tangled funeral pyre built for my suffering,

so sure of nothing more to buy for future needs,

while in my heart the stored reserves kept silent.

Is it still I, who there past all recognition burn?

Memories I do not seize and bring inside.

O life! O living! O to be outside!

And I in flames. And no one here who knows me.

Rainer Maria Rilke