text_original: What spirit, then, fills with a sweet despair And swiftly broken spell The crimson gardens of the mourning air? The clouds go forth on seas without a port ; Back unto Earth, its mother, sinks the leaf.
text_transcription: WHAT SPIRIT THEN FILLS WITH A SWEET DESPAIR AND SWIFTLY BROKEN SPELL THE CRIMSON GARDENS OF THE MORNING AIR THE CLOUDS GO FORTH ON SEAS WITHOUT A PORT BACK UNTO EARTH ITS MOTHER SINKS THE LEAF
phonemes: wˌʌt spˈɪɹɪt, ðˈɛn, fˈɪlz wɪð ɐ swˈiːt dᵻspˈɛɹ ænd swˈɪftli bɹˈoʊkən spˈɛl ðə kɹˈɪmsən ɡˈɑːɹdənz ʌvðə mˈɔːɹnɪŋ ˈɛɹ? ðə klˈaʊdz ɡˌoʊ fˈɔːɹθ ˌɔn sˈiːz wɪðˌaʊt ɐ pˈɔːɹt ; bˈæk ˌʌntʊ ˈɜːθ, ɪts mˈʌðɚ, sˈɪŋks ðə lˈiːf.