text_original: Brave Custer leads, blonde as the gods of old; Back from his brow blow clustering locks of gold, And, like a jewel in a brook, there lies, Far in the depths of his blue guarded eyes, The thought of one whose smiling lips up curled, Mean more of joy to him than plaudits of the world.
text_transcription: BRAVE CUSTER LEADS BLOND AS THE GODS OF OLD BACK FROM HIS BROW BLOW CLUSTERING LOCKS OF GOLD AND LIKE A JEWEL IN A BROOK THERE LIES FAR IN THE DEPTH OF HIS BLUE GUARDED EYES THE THOUGHT OF ONE WHOSE SMILING LIPS UP CURLED MEAN MORE OF JOY TO HIM THAN PLAUDITS OF THE WORLD
phonemes: bɹˈeɪv kˈʌstɚ lˈiːdz, blˈɑːnd æz ðə ɡˈɑːdz ʌv ˈoʊld; bˈæk fɹʌm hɪz bɹˈaʊ blˈoʊ klˈʌstɚɹɪŋ lˈɑːks ʌv ɡˈoʊld, ænd, lˈaɪk ɐ dʒˈuːəl ɪn ɐ bɹˈʊk, ðɛɹ lˈaɪz, fˈɑːɹ ɪnðə dˈɛpθs ʌv hɪz blˈuː ɡˈɑːɹdᵻd ˈaɪz, ðə θˈɔːt ʌv wˈʌn hˌuːz smˈaɪlɪŋ lˈɪps ˌʌp kˈɜːld, mˈiːn mˈɔːɹ ʌv dʒˈɔɪ tə hˌɪm ðɐn plˈɔːdɪts ʌvðə wˈɜːld.