Continental Trips Forgone for the Sake of Whym Chow

The moonlight lies a pavement on the grass,
The forest is dark air against the sky —
I leave my chow-dog by the fire, and pass
The window-pane on to the void. A cry
Behind me, on my track, sharp as the sight
Of injured ghost, intrepid in his pain,
And whimsical as effort of a sprite
To do an errand on the earth again!
A cry — my knowledge of the heart it wrings
Has held me many years from liberty,
From Anet, and from Blois; and, as I live,
The motion of that tender vocative
Shall stay my foot from all those dreamed things
And all the diverse kingdoms over sea.