text_original: The Troubadour THE wind blows salt from off the sea And sweet from where the land lies green; I travel down the great highway That runs so straight and white between   I watch the sea wind strain the sheet, The land wind toss the yellow wheat!
text_transcription: THE TROUBADOUR THE WIND BLOWS SALT FROM OFF THE SEA AND SWEET FROM WHERE THE LAND LIES GREEN I TRAVEL DOWN THE GREAT HIGHWAY THAT RUNS SO STRAIGHT AND WHITE BETWEEN I WATCH THE SEA WIND STRAIN THE SHEET THE LAND WIND TOSSED THE YELLOW WHEAT
phonemes: ðə tɹˈuːbədˌɔːɹ ðə wˈɪnd blˈoʊz sˈɔlt fɹʌm ˈɔf ðə sˈiː ænd swˈiːt fɹʌm wˈɛɹ ðə lˈænd lˈaɪz ɡɹˈiːn; aɪ tɹˈævəl dˌaʊn ðə ɡɹˈeɪt hˈaɪweɪ ðæt ɹˈʌnz sˌoʊ stɹˈeɪt ænd wˈaɪt bᵻtwˌiːn aɪ wˈɑːtʃ ðə sˈiː wˈɪnd stɹˈeɪn ðə ʃˈiːt, ðə lˈænd wˈɪnd tˈɔs ðə jˈɛloʊ wˈiːt!