text_original: " But now the summer wind is still, The young moon dreams behind the beeches, The clouds lie soft on mead and hill, Clear curve in light the river reaches Yet from the deep wood rings a shrill And piercing summons that beseeches.
text_transcription: BUT NOW THE SUMMER WIND IS STILL THE YOUNG MOON DREAMS BEHIND THE BEECHES THE CLOUDS LIE SOFT ON MEAD AND HILL CLEAR CURVING LIGHT THE RIVER REACHES YET FROM THE DEEP WOOD RINGS A SHRILL AND PIERCING SUMMONS THAT BESEECHES
phonemes: " bˌʌt nˈaʊ ðə sˈʌmɚ wˈɪnd ɪz stˈɪl, ðə jˈʌŋ mˈuːn dɹˈiːmz bᵻhˌaɪnd ðə bˈiːtʃᵻz, ðə klˈaʊdz lˈaɪ sˈɔft ˌɔn mˈiːd ænd hˈɪl, klˈɪɹ kˈɜːv ɪn lˈaɪt ðə ɹˈɪvɚ ɹˈiːtʃᵻz jˈɛt fɹʌmðə dˈiːp wˈʊd ɹˈɪŋz ɐ ʃɹˈɪl ænd pˈɪɹsɪŋ sˈʌmənz ðæt bᵻsˈiːtʃᵻz.