text_original: 92 THE ECHO AND THE QUEST Now, as the west is red, O birds I My clumsy arts you bring to naught: A victim of the curse of thought, I tell its pain in trammeling words — Your music mocks the bitter lay I Idle as any song of mine The melody from copse or pine — Born at the dying of the day; But oh I the full accomplishment!
text_transcription: DOT ORK BY SONYA THE ECHO AND THE QUEST NOW AS THE WEST IS RED O BIRDS MY CLUMSY ARTS YOU BRING TO NAUGHT A VICTIM OF THE CURSE OF THOUGHT I TELL ITS PAIN IN TREMBLING WORDS YOU MUSIC MOCKS THE BITTER LAY IDLE AS ANY SONG OF MINE THE MELODY FROM COPSE OR PINE BORN AT THE DYING OF THE DAY BUT OH THE FULL ACCOMPLISHMENT
phonemes: nˈaɪnti tˈuː ðɪ ˈɛkoʊ ænd ðə kwˈɛst nˈaʊ, æz ðə wˈɛst ɪz ɹˈɛd, ˈoʊ bˈɜːdz aɪ maɪ klˈʌmzi ˈɑːɹts juː bɹˈɪŋ tə nˈɔːt: ɐ vˈɪktɪm ʌvðə kˈɜːs ʌv θˈɔːt, aɪ tˈɛl ɪts pˈeɪn ɪn tɹˈæməlɪŋ wˈɜːdz — jʊɹ mjˈuːzɪk mˈɑːks ðə bˈɪɾɚ lˈeɪ aɪ ˈaɪdəl æz ˌɛni sˈɔŋ ʌv mˈaɪn ðə mˈɛlədi fɹʌm kˈɑːps ɔːɹ pˈaɪn — bˈɔːɹn æt ðə dˈaɪɪŋ ʌvðə dˈeɪ; bˌʌt ˈoʊ aɪ ðə fˈʊl ɐkˈɑːmplɪʃmənt!