text_original: VI A hand at the door taps light As the hand of my heart's delight: It is but a full grown hand, Yet the stroke of it seems to start Hope like a bird in my heart, Too feeble to soar or to stand.
text_transcription: SIX A HAND AT THE DOOR TAPS LIGHT AS THE HAND OF MY HEART'S DELIGHT IT IS BUT A FULL GROWN HAND YET THE STROKE OF IT SEEMS TO START HOPE LIKE A BIRD IN MY HEART TOO FEEBLE TO SOAR OR TO STAND
phonemes: vˌiːˈaɪ ɐ hˈænd æt ðə dˈɔːɹ tˈæps lˈaɪt æz ðə hˈænd ʌv maɪ hˈɑːɹts dᵻlˈaɪt: ɪɾ ɪz bˌʌt ɐ fˈʊl ɡɹˈoʊn hˈænd, jˈɛt ðə stɹˈoʊk ʌv ɪt sˈiːmz tə stˈɑːɹt hˈoʊp lˈaɪk ɐ bˈɜːd ɪn maɪ hˈɑːɹt, tˈuː fˈiːbəl tə sˈɔːɹ ɔːɹ tə stˈænd.