text_original: PRELUDE And do we dream, or is it true, The grass so brown but yester morn Has caught a subtly greener hue In sheltered corners of the lawn ? Can there be buds upon the hedge Wee, starry pointlets half unrolled ? And were we blind to read the pledge Written in the willow's pencilled gold ? And is it fancy that there breathes A vagrant perfume in the air, A scent of freshly opened leaves
text_transcription: AND DO WE DREAM OR IS IT TRUE THE GRASS SO BROWN BUT YESTER MORN HAS CAUGHT A SUBTLY GREENER YEW IN SHELTERED CORNERS OF THE LAWN CAN THERE BE BUDS UPON THE HEDGE WE STARRY POINTLETS HALF UNROLLED AND WERE WE BLIND TO READ THE PLEDGE WRITTEN IN THE WILLOW'S PENCILLED GOLD AND IS IT FANCY THAT THERE BREATHES A FRAGRANT PERFUME IN THE AIR A SCENT OF FRESHLY OPENED LEAVES
phonemes: pɹˈeɪluːd ænd dˈuː wiː dɹˈiːm, ɔːɹ ɪz ɪt tɹˈuː, ðə ɡɹˈæs sˌoʊ bɹˈaʊn bˌʌt jˈɛstɚ mˈɔːɹn hɐz kˈɔːt ɐ sˈʌɾəli ɡɹˈiːnɚ hjˈuː ɪn ʃˈɛltɚd kˈɔːɹnɚz ʌvðə lˈɔːn ? kæn ðɛɹbˈiː bˈʌdz əpˌɑːn ðə hˈɛdʒ wˈiː, stˈɑːɹi pˈɔɪntlɪts hˈæf ʌnɹˈoʊld ? ænd wɜː wiː blˈaɪnd tə ɹˈiːd ðə plˈɛdʒ ɹˈɪʔn̩ ɪnðə wˈɪloʊz pˈɛnsəld ɡˈoʊld ? ænd ɪz ɪt fˈænsi ðæt ðɛɹ bɹˈiːðz ɐ vˈeɪɡɹənt pˈɜːfjuːm ɪnðɪ ˈɛɹ, ɐ sˈɛnt ʌv fɹˈɛʃli ˈoʊpənd lˈiːvz