text_original: The very wind Serves at the soul's aeolian chords; Rulers dismayed, uncertain lords, In all we find, ourselves we find. 94 "THE ECHO AND "THE QUES'T But you escape the nets of care. Whither at last my feet shall go I know not: from your song I know You find the truth, and find it fair.
text_transcription: THE VERY WIND SERVES AT THE SOLE THE EOLIAN COURTS RULERS DISMAYED UNCERTAIN LORDS IN ALL WE FIND OURSELVES WE FIND BUT YOU ESCAPE THE NETS OF CARE WHITHER AT LAST MY FEET SHALL GO I KNOW NOT FROM YOUR SONG I KNOW YOU FIND THE TRUTH AND FIND IT FAIR
phonemes: ðə vˈɛɹi wˈɪnd sˈɜːvz æt ðə sˈoʊlz iːˈoʊliən kˈɔːɹdz; ɹˈuːlɚz dɪsmˈeɪd, ʌnsˈɜːʔn̩ lˈɔːɹdz, ɪn ˈɔːl wiː fˈaɪnd, aʊɚsˈɛlvz wiː fˈaɪnd. nˈaɪnti fˈɔːɹ "ðɪ ˈɛkoʊ ænd "ðə kwˈɛst bˌʌt juː ɛskˈeɪp ðə nˈɛts ʌv kˈɛɹ. wˈɪðɚɹ æt lˈæst maɪ fˈiːt ʃˌæl ɡˌoʊ aɪ nˈoʊ nˈɑːt: fɹʌm jʊɹ sˈɔŋ aɪ nˈoʊ juː fˈaɪnd ðə tɹˈuːθ, ænd fˈaɪnd ɪt fˈɛɹ.