text_original: Here not even the stars can spy us, Not even the white moths write With their little pale signs on the wall, to try us And set us affright. Kiss but then the dust from off my lips, But draw the turgid pain From my breast to your bosom, eclipse My soul again.
text_transcription: HERE NOT EVEN THE STARS CAN SPY US NOT EVEN THE WHITE MOTHS RIDE WITH THEIR LITTLE PALE SIGNS ON THE WALL TO TRY US AND SET US AFFRIGHT KISS BUT THEN THE DUST FROM OFF MY LIPS BUT DRAW THE TURGID PAIN FROM MY BREAST TO YOUR BOSOM ECLIPSE MY SOUL AGAIN
phonemes: hˈɪɹ nˌɑːt ˈiːvən ðə stˈɑːɹz kæn spˈaɪ ˌʌs, nˌɑːt ˈiːvən ðə wˈaɪt mˈɑːθs ɹˈaɪt wɪð ðɛɹ lˈɪɾəl pˈeɪl sˈaɪnz ɔnðə wˈɔːl, tə tɹˈaɪ ˌʌs ænd sˈɛt ˌʌs ɐfɹˈaɪt. kˈɪs bˌʌt ðˈɛn ðə dˈʌst fɹʌm ˈɔf maɪ lˈɪps, bˌʌt dɹˈɔː ðə tˈɜːdʒɪd pˈeɪn fɹʌm maɪ bɹˈɛst tə jʊɹ bˈʊzəm, ɪklˈɪps maɪ sˈoʊl ɐɡˈɛn.