text_original: Wheat fields whose golden silences are stirred By whirring insect wings, and naught is heard But plaintive callings of that one sweet word, "Bob White! Bob White!"
text_transcription: WHEAT FIELDS WHOSE GOLDEN SILENCE IS A STIRRED BY WHIRRING INSECT WINGS AND NOUGHT IS HEARD BUT PLAINTIVE CALLINGS OF THAT ONE SWEET WORD BOB WHITE BOB WHITE
phonemes: wˈiːt fˈiːldz hˌuːz ɡˈoʊldən sˈaɪlənsᵻz ɑːɹ stˈɜːd baɪ wˈɜːɹɪŋ ˈɪnsɛkt wˈɪŋz, ænd nˈɔːt ɪz hˈɜːd bˌʌt plˈeɪntɪv kˈɔːlɪŋz ʌv ðˈætwˌʌn swˈiːt wˈɜːd, "bˈɑːb wˈaɪt! bˈɑːb wˈaɪt!"