text_original: And where she passed, each whispering wind ablow, And every little blossom in the sod, Called joyously to her, "We know, we know, For are we not the intimates of God?"
text_transcription: AND WHERE SHE PASSED EACH WHISPERING WIND A BLOW AND EVERY LITTLE BLOSSOM IN THE SOD CALLED JOYOUSLY TO HER WE KNOW WE KNOW FOR ARE WE NOT THE INTIMATES OF GOD
phonemes: ænd wˌɛɹ ʃiː pˈæst, ˈiːtʃ wˈɪspɚɹɪŋ wˈɪnd ɐblˈoʊ, ænd ˈɛvɹi lˈɪɾəl blˈɔsəm ɪnðə sˈɑːd, kˈɔːld dʒˈɔɪəsli tə hɜː, "wiː nˈoʊ, wiː nˈoʊ, fɔːɹ ɑːɹ wiː nˌɑːt ðɪ ˈɪntᵻməts ʌv ɡˈɑːd?"