text_original: About the head crown'd with these bays, Like lambent fire, the lightning plays; Nor, its triumphal cavalcade to grace, Makes up its solemn train with death; It melts the sword of war, yet keeps it in the sheath.
text_transcription: ABOUT THE HEAD CROWNED WITH THESE BAYS LIKE LAMBENT FIRE THE LIGHTNING PLAYS NOR ITS TRIUMPHAL CAVALCADE TO GRACE MAKES UP ITS SOLEMN TRAIN WITH DEATH IT MELTS THE SWORD OF WAR YET KEEPS IT IN THE SHEATH
phonemes: ɐbˌaʊt ðə hˈɛd kɹˈaʊnd wɪð ðiːz bˈeɪz, lˈaɪk lˈæmbənt fˈaɪɚ, ðə lˈaɪtnɪŋ plˈeɪz; nˈɔːɹ, ɪts tɹˈaɪʌmfəl kˈævɐlkˌeɪd tə ɡɹˈeɪs, mˌeɪks ˌʌp ɪts sˈɑːləm tɹˈeɪn wɪð dˈɛθ; ɪt mˈɛlts ðə sˈɔːɹd ʌv wˈɔːɹ, jˈɛt kˈiːps ɪɾ ɪnðə ʃˈiːθ.