text_original: The flowers of Spring, his azure skies, Are not more lovely than her eyes, Glad with unfathomable dreams ; The music of his winds, his streams, With her soft lips may not compete That grant the echoes silver feet To foot it on the hills ; the Spring Hath no such songs as she can sing.
text_transcription: THE FLOWERS OF SPRING HIS AZURE SKIES ARE NOT MORE LOVELY THAN HER EYES GLAD WITH UNFATHOMABLE DREAMS THE MUSIC OF HIS WINDS HIS STREAMS WITH HER SOFT LIPS MAY NOT COMPETE THAT GRANT THE ECHO'S SILVER FEET TO FOOT IT ON THE HILLS THE SPRING HATH NO SUCH SONGS AS SHE CAN SING
phonemes: ðə flˈaʊɚz ʌv spɹˈɪŋ, hɪz ˈæʒɚ skˈaɪz, ɑːɹ nˌɑːt mˈɔːɹ lˈʌvli ðɐn hɜːɹ ˈaɪz, ɡlˈæd wɪð ʌnfˈæðəməbəl dɹˈiːmz ; ðə mjˈuːzɪk ʌv hɪz wˈɪndz, hɪz stɹˈiːmz, wɪð hɜː sˈɔft lˈɪps mˈeɪ nˌɑːt kəmpˈiːt ðæt ɡɹˈænt ðɪ ˈɛkoʊz sˈɪlvɚ fˈiːt tə fˈʊt ɪɾ ɔnðə hˈɪlz ; ðə spɹˈɪŋ hæθ nˈoʊ sˈʌtʃ sˈɔŋz æz ʃiː kæn sˈɪŋ.