text_original: Only at evening, as he returns from the chase, he sounds his note, playing sweet and low on his pipes of reed: not even she could excel him in melody—that bird who in flower laden spring pouring forth her lament utters honey voiced song amid the leaves.
text_transcription: ONLY AT EVENING AS HE RETURNS FROM THE CHASE HE SOUNDS HIS NOTE PLAING SWEET AND LOW ON HIS PIPES OF REED NOT EVEN SHE COULD EXCEL HIM IN MELODY THAT BIRD WHO IN FLOWER LADEN SPRING POURING FORTH HER LAMENT UTTERS HONEY VOICED SONG AMID THE LEAVES
phonemes: ˈoʊnli æɾ ˈiːvnɪŋ, æz hiː ɹᵻtˈɜːnz fɹʌmðə tʃˈeɪs, hiː sˈaʊndz hɪz nˈoʊt, plˈeɪɪŋ swˈiːt ænd lˈoʊ ˌɔn hɪz pˈaɪps ʌv ɹˈiːd: nˌɑːt ˈiːvən ʃiː kʊd ɛksˈɛl hˌɪm ɪn mˈɛlədi—ðæt bˈɜːd hˌuː ɪn flˈaʊɚ lˈeɪdən spɹˈɪŋ pˈɔːɹɪŋ fˈɔːɹθ hɜː lɐmˈɛnt ˈʌɾɚz hˈʌni vˈɔɪst sˈɔŋ ɐmˈɪd ðə lˈiːvz.