text_original: Upon those spreading plains is there not room For man and bison, that he seals its doom? What pleasure lies and what seductive charm In slaying with no purpose but to harm? Alas, that man, unable to create, Should thirst forever to exterminate, And in destruction find his fiercest joy.
text_transcription: UPON THOSE SPREADING PLAINS IS THERE NOT ROOM FOR MAN AND BISON THAT HE SEALS ITS DOOM WHAT PLEASURE LIES AND WHAT SEDUCTIVE CHARM IN SLAYING WITH NO PURPOSE BUT TO HARM ALAS THAT MAN UNABLE TO CREATE SHOULD THIRST FOR EVER TO EXTERMINATE AND IN DESTRUCTION FIND HIS FIERCEST JOY
phonemes: əpˌɑːn ðoʊz spɹˈɛdɪŋ plˈeɪnz ɪz ðɛɹ nˌɑːt ɹˈuːm fɔːɹ mˈæn ænd bˈaɪsən, ðæt hiː sˈiːlz ɪts dˈuːm? wˌʌt plˈɛʒɚ lˈaɪz ænd wʌt sᵻdˈʌktɪv tʃˈɑːɹm ɪn slˈeɪɪŋ wɪð nˈoʊ pˈɜːpəs bˌʌt tə hˈɑːɹm? ɐlˈæs, ðæt mˈæn, ʌnˈeɪbəl tə kɹiːˈeɪt, ʃˌʊd θˈɜːst fɚɹˈɛvɚ tʊ ɛkstˈɜːmᵻnˌeɪt, ænd ɪn dᵻstɹˈʌkʃən fˈaɪnd hɪz fˈɪɹsɪst dʒˈɔɪ.