text_original: Not sweeter is thy fragrance upon the balmy air Than her pure spirit sheddeth, so blithe and debonnaire! O happy rose that lieth upon that bosom white, To thee kind Fate hath granted a goal of pure delight!
text_transcription: NOT SWEETER IS THY FRAGRANCE UPON THE BALMY AIR THAN HER PURE SPIRIT SHADETH SO BLITHE AND DEVONNAIRE O HAPPY ROSE THAT LIETH UPON THAT BOSOM WHITE TO THEE KIND FATE HATH GRANTED A GOAL OF PURE DELIGHT
phonemes: nˌɑːt swˈiːɾɚɹ ɪz ðˌaɪ fɹˈeɪɡɹəns əpˌɑːn ðə bˈɑːmi ˈɛɹ ðɐn hɜː pjˈʊɹ spˈɪɹɪt ʃˈɛdəθ, sˌoʊ blˈaɪð ænd dˌɛbənˈɛɹ! ˈoʊ hˈæpi ɹˈoʊz ðæt lˈaɪəθ əpˌɑːn ðæt bˈʊzəm wˈaɪt, tə ðiː kˈaɪnd fˈeɪt hæθ ɡɹˈæntᵻd ɐ ɡˈoʊl ʌv pjˈʊɹ dᵻlˈaɪt!