text_original: And the plane to the pine tree is whispering some tale of love Till it rustles with laughter and tosses its mantle of green, And the gloom of the wych elm's hollow is lit with the iris sheen Of the burnished rainbow throat and the silver breast of a dove. See!
text_transcription: AND THE PLAIN TO THE PINE TREE IS WHISPERING SOME TALE OF LOVE TILL IT RUSTLES WITH LAUGHTER AND TOSSES ITS MANTLE OF GREEN AND THE GLOOM OF THE WITCH ELMS HOLLOW IS LIT WITH THE IRISH SHEEN OF THE BURNISHED RAINBOW THROAT AND THE SILVER BREAST OF A DOVE SEE
phonemes: ænd ðə plˈeɪn tə ðə pˈaɪn tɹˈiː ɪz wˈɪspɚɹɪŋ sˌʌm tˈeɪl ʌv lˈʌv tˈɪl ɪt ɹˈʌsəlz wɪð lˈæftɚ ænd tˈɔsᵻz ɪts mˈæntəl ʌv ɡɹˈiːn, ænd ðə ɡlˈuːm ʌvðə wˈɪtʃ ˈɛlmz hˈɑːloʊ ɪz lˈɪt wɪððɪ ˈaɪɹɪs ʃˈiːn ʌvðə bˈɜːnɪʃt ɹˈeɪnboʊ θɹˈoʊt ænd ðə sˈɪlvɚ bɹˈɛst əvə dˈʌv. sˈiː!