We are none lucider or blinder,
we are all searchers for a cure, –
and so you became perhaps the finder,
Kleist, impatient and obscure.
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Matthias Glöckner
Poem: Rilke by Kleist’s grave
Nikolay Nekrasov: The Railway
Vanya (in a coachman’s overcoat): Papasha! Who has built this railway? Papasha (in an overcoat with a red lining): Count Pyotr Andreyevitch Kleinmichel, my dear!
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