text_original: You may work on your word a thousand weeks, But it will not glow like one That all unsought, leaps forth white hot, When the fountains of feeling run.
text_transcription: YOU MAY WORK ON YOUR WORD A THOUSAND WEEKS BUT IT WILL NOT GLOW LIKE ONE THAT ALL UNSOUGHT LEAPS FORTH WHITE HOT WHEN THE FOUNTAINS OF FEELING RUN
phonemes: juː mˈeɪ wˈɜːk ˌɔn jʊɹ wˈɜːd ɐ θˈaʊzənd wˈiːks, bˌʌt ɪt wɪl nˌɑːt ɡlˈoʊ lˈaɪk wˈʌn ðæt ˈɔːl ʌnsˈɔːt, lˈiːps fˈɔːɹθ wˈaɪt hˈɑːt, wˌɛn ðə fˈaʊntɪnz ʌv fˈiːlɪŋ ɹˈʌn.