text_original: The Earth has drunk the vintage up; What boots it patch the goblet's splinters? Can Summer fill the icy cup, Whose treacherous crystal is but Winter's? O spendthrift, haste! await the Gods; Their nectar crowns the lips of Patience; Haste scatters on unthankful sods The immortal gift in vain libations.
text_transcription: THE EARTH HAS DRUNK THE VINTAGE UP WHAT BOOTS IT PATCH THE GOBLET SPLINTERS CAN SUMMER FILL THE ICY CUP WHOSE TREACHEROUS CRYSTAL IS BUT WINTER'S O SPENDTHRIFT HASTE AWAIT THE GODS THEIR NECTAR CROWNS THE LIPS OF PATIENCE HASTE SCATTERS ON UNTHANKFUL SODS THE IMMORTAL GIFT IN VAIN LIBATIONS
phonemes: ðɪ ˈɜːθ hɐz dɹˈʌŋk ðə vˈɪntɪdʒ ˈʌp; wˌʌt bˈuːts ɪt pˈætʃ ðə ɡˈɑːbləts splˈɪntɚz? kæn sˈʌmɚ fˈɪl ðɪ ˈaɪsi kˈʌp, hˌuːz tɹˈɛtʃɚɹəs kɹˈɪstəl ɪz bˌʌt wˈɪntɚz? ˈoʊ spˈɛndθɹɪft, hˈeɪst! ɐwˈeɪt ðə ɡˈɑːdz; ðɛɹ nˈɛktɚ kɹˈaʊnz ðə lˈɪps ʌv pˈeɪʃəns; hˈeɪst skˈæɾɚz ˌɔn ʌnθˈæŋkfəl sˈɑːdz ðɪ ɪmˈɔːɹɾəl ɡˈɪft ɪn vˈeɪn lɪbˈeɪʃənz.