O Shalamar, thou quiet Shalamar,
Close from thy feet the plains stretch out afar
To the distant trees; the creaking guda creeps
Up to thy gates; the drowsy traveler sleeps
Beneath thy shade. Through winding mango groves
The peacock seeks his mate, and shrieks his loves
To thy echoing walls. Here is a resting place.
There the cool, fountained waters interlace.
Spirits of kings and queens of long ago
Through the silent shady walks pass to and fro;
Out on the plains four hundred years have swept
And gone; within, four hundred years have slept,
And sleep - aye, sleep on still in Shalamar,
Where from the walls the plains stretch out afar.