text_original: Yet unto me thou art not less divine, I touch thy cheek  and know the mystery hid Within the twilight breeze; I smooth thy hair And understand how slipping hours may twine Themselves into eternity: yea, rid Of all but love, I kiss thine eyes and seem To see all beauty God Himself may dream. Why then should I o'ermuch for earth sight care?
text_transcription: YET UNTO ME THOU ART NOT LESS DIVINE I TOUCH THY CHEEK AND KNOW THE MYSTERY HID WITHIN THE TWILIGHT BREEZE I SMOOTH THY HAIR AND UNDERSTAND HOW SLIPPING HOURS MAY TWINE THEMSELVES INTO ETERNITY YEA RID OF ALL BUT LOVE I KISS THINE EYES AND SEEM TO SEE ALL BEAUTY GOD HIMSELF MAY DREAM WHY THEN SHOULD I OVERMUCH FOR EARTH'S SIDE CARE
phonemes: jˈɛt ˌʌntʊ mˌiː ðˈaʊ ˈɑːɹt nˌɑːt lˈɛs dᵻvˈaɪn, aɪ tˈʌtʃ ðˌaɪ tʃˈiːk ænd nˈoʊ ðə mˈɪstɚɹi hˈɪd wɪðˌɪn ðə twˈaɪlaɪt bɹˈiːz; aɪ smˈuːð ðˌaɪ hˈɛɹ ænd ˌʌndɚstˈænd hˌaʊ slˈɪpɪŋ ˈaʊɚz mˈeɪ twˈaɪn ðɛmsˈɛlvz ˌɪntʊ ɪtˈɜːnᵻɾi: jˈeɪ, ɹˈɪd ʌv ˈɔːl bˌʌt lˈʌv, aɪ kˈɪs ðaɪn ˈaɪz ænd sˈiːm tə sˈiː ˈɔːl bjˈuːɾi ɡˈɑːd hɪmsˈɛlf mˈeɪ dɹˈiːm. wˌaɪ ðˈɛn ʃˌʊd aɪ ˈɔːɹmʌtʃ fɔːɹ ˈɜːθ sˈaɪt kˈɛɹ?