text_original: What though the one that thou hast builded lies Where sinks the sun to its enchanted rest. If, on each breeze that bloweth east or west, To thee, on swiftest wing, my spirit flies
text_transcription: WHAT THOUGH THE ONE THAT THOU HAST BUILDED LIES WHERE SINKS THE SUN TO ITS ENCHANTED REST IF ON EACH BREEZE THAT BLOWETH EAST OR WEST TO THEE ON SWIFTEST WING MY SPIRIT FLIES
phonemes: wˌʌt ðˌoʊ ðə wˈʌn ðæt ðˈaʊ hˈeɪst bˈɪldᵻd lˈaɪz wˌɛɹ sˈɪŋks ðə sˈʌn tʊ ɪts ɛntʃˈæntᵻd ɹˈɛst. ɪf, ˌɔn ˈiːtʃ bɹˈiːz ðæt blˈoʊəθ ˈiːst ɔːɹ wˈɛst, tə ðˈiː, ˌɔn swˈɪftɪst wˈɪŋ, maɪ spˈɪɹɪt flˈaɪz