text_original: Splendid and chill those gardens shone. Where sound is not, and tides are winds,— Where, fugitive, the naiad finds Eternal autumn, hushed and lone; Till one had said that in her bow'rs Were mixt the nacres of the dawn, That thence the sunset's dyes were drawn, And there the rainbow sank its tow'rs.
text_transcription: SPLENDID AND CHILL THOSE GARDENS SHONE WHERE SOUND IS NOT AND TIDES ARE WINDS WHERE FUGITIVE THE NEIAD FINDS ETERNAL AUTUMN HUSHED AND LONE TILL ONE HAD SAID THAT IN HER BOWERS WERE MIXED THE KNACKERS OF THE DAWN THAT THENCE THE SUNSET STARS WERE DRAWN AND THERE THE RAINBOW SANK ITS TOWE
phonemes: splˈɛndɪd ænd tʃˈɪl ðoʊz ɡˈɑːɹdənz ʃˈɑːn. wˌɛɹ sˈaʊnd ɪz nˈɑːt, ænd tˈaɪdz ɑːɹ wˈɪndz,— wˈɛɹ, fjˈuːdʒᵻtˌɪv, ðə nˈeɪæd fˈaɪndz ɪtˈɜːnəl ˈɔːɾʌm, hˈʌʃt ænd lˈoʊn; tˈɪl wˈʌn hæd sˈɛd ðæt ɪn hɜː bˈoʊrz wɜː mˈɪkst ðə nˈækɚz ʌvðə dˈɔːn, ðæt ðˈɛns ðə sˈʌnsɛts dˈaɪz wɜː dɹˈɔːn, ænd ðɛɹ ðə ɹˈeɪnboʊ sˈæŋk ɪts tˈoʊrz.