To Victor Hugo

Victor in poesy! Victor in romance!   Cloud-weaver of phantasmal hopes and fears!   French of the French and lord of human tears! Child-lover, bard, whose fame-lit laurels glance, Darkening the wreaths of all that would advance   Beyond our strait their claim to be thy peers!   Weird Titan, by thy wintry weight of years As yet unbroken! Stormy voice of France, Who does not love our England, so they say;   I know not! England, France, all men to be,     Will make one people, ere man’s race be run; And I, desiring that diviner day,   Yield thee full thanks for thy full courtesy     To younger England in the boy, my son.