text_original: Come then under the trees, where the leaf cloths Curtain us in so dark That here we're safe from even the ermin moth's Flitting remark. Here in this swarthy, secret tent, Where black boughs flap the ground, You shall draw the thorn from my discontent, Surgeon me sound.
text_transcription: COME THEN UNDER THE TREES WHERE THE LEAF CLOTHS CURTAIN US IN SO DARK THAT HERE WE SAFE FROM EVEN THE ERMINE MOTH FLITTING REMARK HERE IN THIS SWARTHY SECRET TENT WHERE BLACK BOUGHS FLAT THE GROUND YOU SHALL DRAW THE THORN FOR MY DISCONTENT SURGING ME SOUND
phonemes: kˈʌm ðˈɛn ˌʌndɚ ðə tɹˈiːz, wˌɛɹ ðə lˈiːf klˈɔθs kˈɜːtən ˌʌs ɪn sˌoʊ dˈɑːɹk ðæt hˈɪɹ wɪɹ sˈeɪf fɹʌm ˈiːvən ðɪ ˈɜːmɪn mˈɑːθz flˈɪɾɪŋ ɹᵻmˈɑːɹk. hˈɪɹ ɪn ðɪs swˈɔːɹði, sˈiːkɹᵻt tˈɛnt, wˌɛɹ blˈæk bˈaʊz flˈæp ðə ɡɹˈaʊnd, juː ʃˌæl dɹˈɔː ðə θˈɔːɹn fɹʌm maɪ dɪskəntˈɛnt, sˈɜːdʒən mˌiː sˈaʊnd.