To Amasia, sticking Gardens cut in Paper, on a large Glass

We see your Actions here are wond'rous all,
Your fruit Trees spread along this Chrystal Wall.
You make me fancy (they are all so fair)
A sweet Elyzium in this clearer Air.
Your Sissers, far the Pruninghooks outdo,
Those lop off Boughs, but these make Branches grow,
And, if our Eyes deceive not, Blossom too.
Rooted in Ice, your Beauteous Gardens stand,
And shew the wonders of your Pow'rful Hand.
O may no Winter to your Beauties come,
But may they ever, like your Orchards, Bloom.