text_original: HE morning hours are joyful fair, With call of bird and scent of dew ; And blent with shining gold and blue And glad the summer noontides are ; The slow sun lingering seeks the west, As loath to leave and grieve so soon The long and fragrant afternoon ; But still the evening is the best.
text_transcription: THE MORNING HOURS ARE JOYFUL FAIR WITH CALL OF BIRD AND SCENT OF DEW AND BLENT WITH SHINING GOLD AND BLUE AND GLAD THE SUMMER NOON TIDES ARE THE SLOW SUN LINGERING SEEKS THE WEST AS SLOTH TO LEAVE AND GRIEVE SO SOON THE LONG AND FRAGRANT AFTERNOON BUT STILL THE EVENING IS THE BEST
phonemes: hiː mˈɔːɹnɪŋ ˈaʊɚz ɑːɹ dʒˈɔɪfəl fˈɛɹ, wɪð kˈɔːl ʌv bˈɜːd ænd sˈɛnt ʌv dˈuː ; ænd blˈɛnt wɪð ʃˈaɪnɪŋ ɡˈoʊld ænd blˈuː ænd ɡlˈæd ðə sˈʌmɚ nˈuːntaɪdz ɑːɹ ; ðə slˈoʊ sˈʌn lˈɪŋɡɚɹɪŋ sˈiːks ðə wˈɛst, æz lˈoʊθ tə lˈiːv ænd ɡɹˈiːv sˌoʊ sˈuːn ðə lˈɔŋ ænd fɹˈeɪɡɹənt ˌæftɚnˈuːn ; bˌʌt stˈɪl ðɪ ˈiːvnɪŋ ɪz ðə bˈɛst.