text_original: Opals agleam in the dusk of her hair Flash their hearts of fire and colours rare As she dances gaily by   Yet she sighs for each empty swinging nest, And she tenderly holds against her breast A belated butterfly.
text_transcription: OPALS AGLEAM IN THE DUSK OF HER HAIR FLASH THEIR HEARTS OF FIRE AND COLOURS RARE AS SHE DANCES GAILY BY YET SHE SIGHS FOR EACH EMPTY SWINGING NEST AND SHE TENDERLY HOLDS AGAINST HER BREAST A BELATED BUTTERFLY
phonemes: ˈoʊpəlz ɐɡlˈiːm ɪnðə dˈʌsk ʌv hɜː hˈɛɹ flˈæʃ ðɛɹ hˈɑːɹts ʌv fˈaɪɚ ænd kˈʌlɚz ɹˈɛɹ æz ʃiː dˈænsᵻz ɡˈeɪli baɪ jˈɛt ʃiː sˈaɪz fɔːɹ ˈiːtʃ ˈɛmpti swˈɪŋɪŋ nˈɛst, ænd ʃiː tˈɛndɚli hˈoʊldz ɐɡˈɛnst hɜː bɹˈɛst ɐ bᵻlˈeɪɾᵻd bˈʌɾɚflˌaɪ.