The young green bamboos are still with sheaths by their roots;
And little above the garden wall peep out their top shoots.
In the evening their shadows creep on the books;
The cups of wine are cooled when reflecting their looks.
Bathing in the showers the graceful forms shine bright;
Wafting with the winds the sweet scents are very light.
If only they will not meet with the ruthless hack,
One might someday see them rise to touch the cloud rack.