text_original: Venoms of vision, myrrh of splendid swoons, 48 tHE JPO'THECART'S They wait us past the green and scarlet moons. Here prisoned rest the tender hands of Peace, And there an angel at whose bidding cease The clamors of the tortured sense, the strife Of nerves confounded in the war of life.
text_transcription: VENOMS OF VISION MYRR OF SPLENDID SWOONS THEY WAIT US PAST THE GREEN AND SCARLET MOONS HERE PRISONED RESTS THE TENDER HANDS OF PEACE AND THERE AN ANGEL AT WHOSE BIDDING SEES THE CLAMORS OF THE TORTURED SENSE THE STRIFE OF NERVES CONFOUNDED IN THE WAR OF LIFE
phonemes: vˈɛnəmz ʌv vˈɪʒən, mˈɜːɹ ʌv splˈɛndɪd swˈuːnz, fˈɔːɹɾi ˈeɪt tˈiː hiː dʒˈeɪpˈɑːθɪkˌɑːɹts ðeɪ wˈeɪt ˌʌs pˈæst ðə ɡɹˈiːn ænd skˈɑːɹlɪt mˈuːnz. hˈɪɹ pɹˈɪzənd ɹˈɛst ðə tˈɛndɚ hˈændz ʌv pˈiːs, ænd ðɛɹ ɐn ˈeɪndʒəl æt hˌuːz bˈɪdɪŋ sˈiːs ðə klˈæmɚz ʌvðə tˈɔːɹtʃɚd sˈɛns, ðə stɹˈaɪf ʌv nˈɜːvz kənfˈaʊndᵻd ɪnðə wˈɔːɹ ʌv lˈaɪf.