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A Long, Long Sleep, A Famous Sleep by Emily Dickinson
S6 E1:A Long, Long Sleep, A Famous Sleep by Emily Dickinson (Poem 582)
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep
That makes no show for dawn
By stretch of limb or stir of lid,—
An independent one.
Was ever idleness like this?
Within a hut of stone
To bask the centuries away
Nor once look up for noon?
There is something both eerie and tender in these eight lines. Emily Dickinson’s poem opens with the rhythm of rest—a “famous sleep” that suggests death, not as an end but as an enduring state of being. The “independent one” is beyond the cycles of morning and noon, detached from time, yet curiously alive in our imagination.
Death here is not portrayed as tragic; rather, it is stillness without suffering, idleness without regret. The “hut of stone” reminds us of the grave, but also of solitude—a sanctuary from motion and measure. Dickinson transforms what might seem a bleak image into an act of cosmic repose.
When I read these words aloud, I felt a kind of reverent hush. There is no fear in this poem, only acceptance—a surrender to what lies beyond waking. It reminds me how rarely we allow ourselves to be still, to imagine existence without striving or movement. Dickinson’s voice whispers across the centuries, asking us to consider that eternity might not be loud or radiant, but quietly restful.
Perhaps that is the deeper invitation of this poem: to recognize that rest itself—the long, long sleep—is not an absence of life, but a continuation of being in another form.
My Takeaway: As I recited this poem, I was struck by how Dickinson frames death not as darkness, but as independence—a release from the tyranny of time. The line “To bask the centuries away” lingers with me, an image of peaceful endurance. It made me wonder: if we could “bask” within the moments of our lives, instead of rushing through them, might we glimpse a little eternity even now?
Thank you for joining me in the Poetry Salon.
Until the next poem unfolds,
Rebecca
Video: Eivindvik, Norway (R. Budd Photo Archives)
Music by Epidemic Sound
Psalm by Anders Schiller Paulsen
https://www.epidemicsound.com/music/tracks/1f1d94e9-5fc4-477c-a3c4-156df67d4c9a/
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By Rebecca BuddS6 E1:A Long, Long Sleep, A Famous Sleep by Emily Dickinson (Poem 582)
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep
That makes no show for dawn
By stretch of limb or stir of lid,—
An independent one.
Was ever idleness like this?
Within a hut of stone
To bask the centuries away
Nor once look up for noon?
There is something both eerie and tender in these eight lines. Emily Dickinson’s poem opens with the rhythm of rest—a “famous sleep” that suggests death, not as an end but as an enduring state of being. The “independent one” is beyond the cycles of morning and noon, detached from time, yet curiously alive in our imagination.
Death here is not portrayed as tragic; rather, it is stillness without suffering, idleness without regret. The “hut of stone” reminds us of the grave, but also of solitude—a sanctuary from motion and measure. Dickinson transforms what might seem a bleak image into an act of cosmic repose.
When I read these words aloud, I felt a kind of reverent hush. There is no fear in this poem, only acceptance—a surrender to what lies beyond waking. It reminds me how rarely we allow ourselves to be still, to imagine existence without striving or movement. Dickinson’s voice whispers across the centuries, asking us to consider that eternity might not be loud or radiant, but quietly restful.
Perhaps that is the deeper invitation of this poem: to recognize that rest itself—the long, long sleep—is not an absence of life, but a continuation of being in another form.
My Takeaway: As I recited this poem, I was struck by how Dickinson frames death not as darkness, but as independence—a release from the tyranny of time. The line “To bask the centuries away” lingers with me, an image of peaceful endurance. It made me wonder: if we could “bask” within the moments of our lives, instead of rushing through them, might we glimpse a little eternity even now?
Thank you for joining me in the Poetry Salon.
Until the next poem unfolds,
Rebecca
Video: Eivindvik, Norway (R. Budd Photo Archives)
Music by Epidemic Sound
Psalm by Anders Schiller Paulsen
https://www.epidemicsound.com/music/tracks/1f1d94e9-5fc4-477c-a3c4-156df67d4c9a/