It is no more fantastic to turn back for such a fancy than it was to come for a similar fancy.
A man cannot eat the Pyramids; he cannot buy or sell the Holy City; there can be no practical aspect either of his coming or going.
If he has not come for a poetic mood he has come for nothing; if he has come for such a mood, he is not a fool to obey that mood.

The way to be really a fool is to try to be practical about unpractical things.
It is to try to collect clouds or preserve moonshine like money.
Now there is much to be said for the view that to search for a mood is in its nature moonshine.

It may be said that this is especially true in the crowded and commonplace conditions in which most sight-seeing has to be done.

It may be said that thirty tourists going together to see a tombstone is really as ridiculous as thirty poets going together to write poems about the nightingale.
There would be something rather depressing about a crowd of travellers, walking over hill and dale after the celebrated cloud of Wordsworth; especially if the crowd is like the cloud, and moveth all together if it move at all.

A vast mob assembled on Salisbury Plain to listen to Shelley's skylark would probably (after an hour or two) consider it a rather subdued sort of skylarking.
It may be argued that it is just as illogical to hope to fix beforehand the elusive effects of the works of man as of the works of nature.
It may be called a contradiction in terms to expect the unexpected.
It may be counted mere madness to anticipate astonishment, or go in search of a surprise.