A Tribute to Uncle Walter

On May 1, 2006 my uncle Walter S. Horst died after a two-week illness. He lived a long and productive life of more than 96 years. I would describe him as a good man, both kind and gentle. If you are interested, you can find his obituary here. Please use the "back" button on your browser to return here.

As is my custom when someone close to me dies, I hunt for a poem with which to honor and remember them. One of my favorite poets is Alfred Lord Tennyson. He wrote this wonderful little poem that to me epitomizes the passing of a gentle soul into a greater eternal existence. He has slipped into the bosom of his creator.

He will remain in my memory and with all who knew him as long as we live. Sleep well, Uncle Walter.

- The Old Professor

Copyright © Jay D Weaver - May 5, 2006

Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal

A scarlet rose
Now they sleep
  Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.
The firefly wakens. Waken thou with me.

  Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

  Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

  Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

  Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake;
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

- Alfred Lord Tennyson

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