text_original: When summer sits proudest, Fulfilled with its mirth, And rapture is loudest In air and on earth, The suns of all hours That have ripened the roots Bring forth not such flowers And beget not such fruits.
text_transcription: WHEN SUMMER SITS PROUDEST FULFILLED WITH ITS MIRTH AND RAPTURE IS LOUDEST IN AIR AND ON EARTH THE SUNS OF ALL OURS THAT HAVE RIPENED THE ROOTS BRING FORTH NOT SUCH FLOWERS AND BEGET NOT SUCH FRUITS
phonemes: wˌɛn sˈʌmɚ sˈɪts pɹˈaʊdɪst, fʊlfˈɪld wɪð ɪts mˈɜːθ, ænd ɹˈæptʃɚɹ ɪz lˈaʊdɪst ɪn ˈɛɹ ænd ˌɔn ˈɜːθ, ðə sˈʌnz ʌv ˈɔːl ˈaʊɚz ðæt hæv ɹˈaɪpənd ðə ɹˈuːts bɹˈɪŋ fˈɔːɹθ nˌɑːt sˈʌtʃ flˈaʊɚz ænd bᵻɡˈɛt nˌɑːt sˈʌtʃ fɹˈuːts.