text_original: The seasons of thy liberty are fled, And hours when thou wast comrade of the cloud. Now vultures are companions, and the crowd, Long with the vision of thy bondage fed. 43 THE CAGED EAGLE What music here shall mingle with thy dreams, Or grace the years in which thou still must pine?
text_transcription: THE SEASONS OF THY LIBERTY ARE FLED AND HOURS WHEN THOU WAST COMRADE OF THE CLOUD NOW VULTURES OUR COMPANIONS AND THE CROWD LONG WITH THE VISION OF THY BONDAGE FED WHAT MUSIC HERE SHALL MINGLE WITH THY DREAMS OR GRACE THE YEARS IN WHICH THOU STILL MUST PINE
phonemes: ðə sˈiːzənz ʌv ðˌaɪ lˈɪbɚɾi ɑːɹ flˈɛd, ænd ˈaʊɚz wɛn ðˈaʊ wɑːst kˈɑːmɹæd ʌvðə klˈaʊd. nˈaʊ vˈʌltʃɚz ɑːɹ kəmpˈæniənz, ænd ðə kɹˈaʊd, lˈɔŋ wɪððə vˈɪʒən ʌv ðˌaɪ bˈɑːndɪdʒ fˈɛd. fˈɔːɹɾi θɹˈiː ðə kˈeɪdʒd ˈiːɡəl wʌt mjˈuːzɪk hˈɪɹ ʃˌæl mˈɪŋɡəl wɪð ðˌaɪ dɹˈiːmz, ɔːɹ ɡɹˈeɪs ðə jˈɪɹz ɪnwˌɪtʃ ðˈaʊ stˈɪl mˈʌst pˈaɪn?