152 GARDENS OF THE PLAINS— LAHORE 



the background of the dark ghstening mango 

 leaves. But as the sun sinks, and the afterglow 

 steals through the close - set tree trunks, and 

 streams down the opening of the west canal, 

 where the dark battlements lose their shape, 

 blmred against the roseate, dust -laden rays, a 

 brief dream of former splendours gilds the 

 platforms and the pathways, the water and the 

 wood. And melancholy, ghost-haimted as it is, 

 still one leaves it with regret — ^this old garden- 

 palace full of echoes. 



