Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, In Bed: The Kiss (1892)What is a bed for? Is there no repose
in the small hours? No proofing of sleep's
stuff against the fretting of stars, thoughts?
Tell me, then, after the night's toil
of loving or praying, is there nothing
to do but to rise tired and be made
away with, yawning, into the day's dream?
from R. S. Thomas, "Questions", in Collected Poems (J M Dent, 1993).
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