text_original: Whisper — Nay, nay, thou sprite, Breathe thou no tender word ; Wind of the winter night, Die thou unheard. True love shall yet prevail, Telling its own sweet tale : Till then I wait.
text_transcription: WHISPER NAY NAY THOU SPRITE BREATHE THOU NO TENDER WORD WIND OF THE WINTER NIGHT DIE THOU UNHEARD TRUE LOVE SHALL YET PREVAIL TELLING ITS OWN SWEET TALE TILL THEN I WAIT
phonemes: wˈɪspɚ — nˈeɪ, nˈeɪ, ðˈaʊ spɹˈaɪt, bɹˈiːð ðˈaʊ nˈoʊ tˈɛndɚ wˈɜːd ; wˈɪnd ʌvðə wˈɪntɚ nˈaɪt, dˈaɪ ðˈaʊ ʌnhˈɜːd. tɹˈuː lˈʌv ʃˌæl jˈɛt pɹɪvˈeɪl, tˈɛlɪŋ ɪts ˈoʊn swˈiːt tˈeɪl : tˈɪl ðˈɛn aɪ wˈeɪt.