text_original: 115 WHIfE MAGIC Often, in eyries of the West, She waits a lover from afar — Frailties of blossom on her breast And o'er her brow the evening star. She stands to greet him unaware, Who cannot find her if he seek: A sigh, a scent of heavenly hair — And oh, her breath is on his cheek I 116 THREE
text_transcription: OFTEN IN ERIES OF THE WEST SHE WAITS A LOVER FROM AFAR FRAILTIES OF BLOSSOM ON HER BREAST AND OVER HER BROW THE EVENING STAR SHE STANDS TO GREET HIM UNAWARE WHO CANNOT FIND HER IF HE SEEK A SIGH A SCENT OF HEAVENLY HAIR AND OH HER BREATH IS ON HIS CHEEK END OF POEM THIS RECORDING IS IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN
phonemes: wˈʌnhˈʌndɹɪd fˈɪftiːn dˌʌbəljˌuːˈeɪtʃ ɪf ˈiː mˈædʒɪk ˈɔfən, ɪn ˈaɪɹiz ʌvðə wˈɛst, ʃiː wˈeɪts ɐ lˈʌvɚ fɹʌm ɐfˈɑːɹ — fɹˈeɪltiz ʌv blˈɔsəm ˌɔn hɜː bɹˈɛst ænd ˈɔːɹ hɜː bɹˈaʊ ðɪ ˈiːvnɪŋ stˈɑːɹ. ʃiː stˈændz tə ɡɹˈiːt hˌɪm ˌʌnəwˈɛɹ, hˌuː kænˈɑːt fˈaɪnd hɜː ɪf hiː sˈiːk: ɐ sˈaɪ, ɐ sˈɛnt ʌv hˈɛvənli hˈɛɹ — ænd ˈoʊ, hɜː bɹˈɛθ ɪz ˌɔn hɪz tʃˈiːk aɪ wˈʌnhˈʌndɹɪd sˈɪkstiːn θɹˈiː