text_original: And feelest thou no pangs of beauty lost, When morning waves or waters sunset crost Cry to thy soul, unsatisfied, alone. Of Isles to which its younger dreams have flown ^ The might have been, the nevermore to be. Bears not the deep their antiphon to thee*?
text_transcription: AND FEELEST THOU NO PANGS OF BEAUTY LOST WHEN MORNING WAVES OR WATER'S SUNSET CROSSED CRY TO THY SOUL UNSATISFIED ALONE OF ISLES TO WHICH ITS YOUNGER DREAMS HAVE FLOWN THERE MIGHT HAVE BEEN THAT NEVER MORE TO BE BEARS NOT THE DEEP THEIR ANTIPHONE TO THEE
phonemes: ænd fˈiːlɪst ðˈaʊ nˈoʊ pˈæŋz ʌv bjˈuːɾi lˈɔst, wˌɛn mˈɔːɹnɪŋ wˈeɪvz ɔːɹ wˈɔːɾɚz sˈʌnsɛt kɹˈɑːst kɹˈaɪ tə ðˌaɪ sˈoʊl, ʌnsˈæɾɪsfˌaɪd, ɐlˈoʊn. ʌv ˈaɪəlz tʊ wˌɪtʃ ɪts jˈʌŋɡɚ dɹˈiːmz hæv flˈoʊn ðə mˌaɪthɐv bˌɪn, ðə nˌɛvɚmˈɔːɹ tə bˈiː. bˈɛɹz nˌɑːt ðə dˈiːp ðɛɹ ˌæntɪfˈɑːn tə ðiː ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk?