text_original: Nobody calls to mind that here Upon Boterel Hill, where the carters skid, With cheeks whose airy flush outbid Fresh fruit in bloom, and free of fear, She cantered down, as if she must fall (Though she never did), To the charm of all.
text_transcription: NOBODY CALLS TO MIND THAT HERE UPON BOTTERLE HILL WHERE THE CARTER SKID WITH CHEEKS WHOSESE AIRY FLUSH OUTBID FRESH FRUIT IN BLOOM AND FREE OF FEAR SHE CANTER DOWN AS IF SHE MUST FALL THOUGH SHE NEVER DID TO THE CHARM OF ALL
phonemes: nˈoʊbɑːdi kˈɔːlz tə mˈaɪnd ðæt hˈɪɹ əpˌɑːn bˈoʊtɹəl hˈɪl, wˌɛɹ ðə kˈɑːɹɾɚz skˈɪd, wɪð tʃˈiːks hˌuːz ˈɛɹi flˈʌʃ aʊtbˈɪd fɹˈɛʃ fɹˈuːt ɪn blˈuːm, ænd fɹˈiː ʌv fˈɪɹ, ʃiː kˈæntɚd dˈaʊn, æz ɪf ʃiː mˈʌst fˈɔːl (ðˌoʊ ʃiː nˈɛvɚ dˈɪd), tə ðə tʃˈɑːɹm ʌv ˈɔːl.