text_original: No, though more suasive than the bard of Thrace You swept the lyre that trees were fain to hear, Ne'er should the blood revisit his pale face Whom once with wand severe Mercury has folded with the sons of night, Untaught to prayer Fate's prison to unseal.
text_transcription: NO THOUGH MORE SUAVE THAN THE BARD OF TRACE YOU SWEPT THE LYRE THAT TREES WERE FAIN TO HEAR NEVER SHOULD THE BLOOD REVISIT HIS PALE FACE WHOM ONCE WITH WANTS SEVERE MERCURY HAS FOLDED WITH THE SUNS OF NIGHT UNTAUGHT TO PRAYER FATE'S PRISON TO UNSEAL
phonemes: nˈoʊ, ðˌoʊ mˈɔːɹ swˈeɪsɪv ðɐn ðə bˈɑːɹd ʌv θɹˈeɪs juː swˈɛpt ðə lˈaɪɚ ðæt tɹˈiːz wɜː fˈeɪn tə hˈɪɹ, nˈɛɹ ʃˌʊd ðə blˈʌd ɹᵻvˈɪzɪt hɪz pˈeɪl fˈeɪs hˈuːm wˈʌns wɪð wˈɔnd sᵻvˈɪɹ mˈɜːkjʊɹi hɐz fˈoʊldᵻd wɪððə sˈʌnz ʌv nˈaɪt, ʌntˈɔːt tə pɹˈɛɹ fˈeɪtz pɹˈɪzən tʊ ʌnsˈiːl.