text_original: DISILLUSION Ah! what would youth be doing To hoist his crimson sails, To leave the wood doves cooing, The song of nightingales; To leave this woodland quiet For murmuring winds at strife, For waves that foam and riot About the seas of life?
text_transcription: DISILLUSION AH WHAT WOULD YOUTH BE DOING TO HOIST HIS CRIMSON SAILS TO LEAVE THE WOOD DOVES COOING THE SONG OF NIGHTINGALES TO LEAVE THIS WOODLAND QUIET FOR MURMURING WINDS THAT STRIVE FOR WAVES THAT FOAM AND RIOT ABOUT THE SEAS OF LIFE
phonemes: dɪsɪlˈuːʒən ˈɑː! wˌʌt wʊd jˈuːθ biː dˌuːɪŋ tə hˈɔɪst hɪz kɹˈɪmsən sˈeɪlz, tə lˈiːv ðə wˈʊd dˈʌvz kˈuːɪŋ, ðə sˈɔŋ ʌv nˈaɪɾɪŋɡˌeɪlz; tə lˈiːv ðɪs wˈʊdlənd kwˈaɪət fɔːɹ mˈɜːmɚɹɪŋ wˈɪndz æt stɹˈaɪf, fɔːɹ wˈeɪvz ðæt fˈoʊm ænd ɹˈaɪət ɐbˌaʊt ðə sˈiːz ʌv lˈaɪf?