text_original: _" HORACE, _Odes_, iii. 28. Spring grew to perfect summer in one day, And we lay there among the vines, to gaze Where Circe's isle floats purple, far away Above the golden haze: And on our ears there seemed to rise and fall The burden of an old world song we knew, That sang, "To day is Neptune's festival, And we, what shall we do?"
text_transcription: HORACE ODES THREE TWENTY EIGHT SPRING GREW TO PERFECT SUMMER IN ONE DAY AND WE LAY THERE AMONG THE VINES TO GAZE WHERE CIRCE'S ISLE FLOATS PURPLE FAR AWAY ABOVE THE GOLDEN HAZE AND ON OUR EARS THERE SEEMED TO RISE AND FALL THE BURDEN OF AN OLD WORLD SONG WE KNEW THAT SANG TO DAY'S NEPTUNE'S FESTIVAL AND WE WHAT SHALL WE DO
phonemes: " hˈɔːɹəs, ˈoʊdz, ɹˌoʊmən θɹˈiː. twˈɛnti ˈeɪt. spɹˈɪŋ ɡɹˈuː tə pɚfˈɛkt sˈʌmɚɹ ɪn wˈʌn dˈeɪ, ænd wiː lˈeɪ ðɛɹ ɐmˌʌŋ ðə vˈaɪnz, tə ɡˈeɪz wˌɛɹ sˈɜːsiᵻz ˈaɪəl flˈoʊts pˈɜːpəl, fˈɑːɹ ɐwˈeɪ əbˌʌv ðə ɡˈoʊldən hˈeɪz: ænd ˌɔn ˌaʊɚɹ ˈɪɹz ðɛɹ sˈiːmd tə ɹˈaɪz ænd fˈɔːl ðə bˈɜːdən əvən ˈoʊld wˈɜːld sˈɔŋ wiː nˈuː, ðæt sˈæŋ, "tə dˈeɪ ɪz nˈɛptuːnz fˈɛstɪvəl, ænd wiː, wˌʌt ʃˌæl wiː dˈuː?"