text_original: The sunset burns, and turns the wave To an enchanted stream, And far up on the shadowy steeps The white walled convents gleam, The music of their bells float out   The sweet wind bears it by, Adown the warm and sunny slopes, Where purple vineyards lie.
text_transcription: THE SUNSET BURNS AND TURNS THE WAVE TO AN ENCHANTED STREAM AND FAR UP ON THE SHADOWY STEEPS THE WHITE WALLED CONVENTS GLEAM THE MUSIC OF THEIR BELLS FLOAT OUT THE SWEET WIND BEARS IT BY ADOWN THE WARM AND SUNNY SLOPES WHERE PURPLE VINEYARDS LIE
phonemes: ðə sˈʌnsɛt bˈɜːnz, ænd tˈɜːnz ðə wˈeɪv tʊ ɐn ɛntʃˈæntᵻd stɹˈiːm, ænd fˈɑːɹ ˌʌp ɔnðə ʃˈædoʊi stˈiːps ðə wˈaɪt wˈɔːld kˈɑːnvənts ɡlˈiːm, ðə mjˈuːzɪk ʌv ðɛɹ bˈɛlz flˈoʊt ˈaʊt ðə swˈiːt wˈɪnd bˈɛɹz ɪt bˈaɪ, ɐdˈaʊn ðə wˈɔːɹm ænd sˈʌni slˈoʊps, wˌɛɹ pˈɜːpəl vˈɪnjɚdz lˈaɪ.