text_original: O flowers, That never will in other climate grow, My early visitation, and my last At even, which I bred up with tender hand From the first opening bud, and gave ye names!
text_transcription: O FLOWERS THAT NEVER WILL IN OTHER CLIMATE GROW MY EARLY VISITATION AND MY LAST AT EVEN WHICH I BRED UP WITH TENDER HAND FROM THE FIRST OPENING BUD AND GAVIAN NAMES
phonemes: ˈoʊ flˈaʊɚz, ðæt nˈɛvɚ wɪl ɪn ˈʌðɚ klˈaɪmət ɡɹˈoʊ, maɪ ˈɜːli vˌɪzɪtˈeɪʃən, ænd maɪ lˈæst æɾ ˈiːvən, wˌɪtʃ aɪ bɹˈɛd ˌʌp wɪð tˈɛndɚ hˈænd fɹʌmðə fˈɜːst ˈoʊpənɪŋ bˈʌd, ænd ɡˈeɪv jiː nˈeɪmz!