text_original: Nay: one there is to whom these things, That nobody else's mind calls back, Have a savour that scenes in being lack, And a presence more than the actual brings; To whom to day is beneaped and stale, And its urgent clack But a vapid tale.
text_transcription: NAY ONE THERE IS TO WHOM THESE THINGS THAT NOBODY ELSE'S MIND CALLS BACK HAVE A SAVOUR THAT SEEMS IN BEING LIKE AND A PRESENCE MORE THAN THE ACTUAL BRINGS TO WHOM TO DAY IS BENEATH AND STALE AND ITS URGENT CLACK BUT A VAPID TALE
phonemes: nˈeɪ: wˈʌn ðɛɹ ɪz tə hˈuːm ðiːz θˈɪŋz, ðæt nˈoʊbɑːdi ˈɛlsᵻz mˈaɪnd kˈɔːlz bˈæk, hæv ɐ sˈeɪvɚ ðæt sˈiːnz ɪn bˌiːɪŋ lˈæk, ænd ɐ pɹˈɛzəns mˈɔːɹ ðɐn ðɪ ˈæktʃuːəl bɹˈɪŋz; tə hˈuːm tə dˈeɪ ɪz bˈɛnɪˌeɪpt ænd stˈeɪl, ænd ɪts ˈɜːdʒənt klˈæk bˌʌt ɐ vˈæpɪd tˈeɪl.