text_original: But aye for me this old word colonnade Seems open to blue summer skies once more, These altars pass, and on the polished floor I see the lines of chequered light and shade; I seem to see the dark browed Lybian lean To cool the tortured burning of the lash, I see the fountains as they leap and flash, The rustling sway of cypress set between.
text_transcription: BUT AY FOR ME THIS OLD WORLD COLONNADE SEEMS OPEN TO BLUE SUMMER SKIES ONCE MORE THESE ALTARS PASS AND ON THE POLED FLOOR I SEE THE LINES OF CHECKERED LIGHT AND SHADE I SEEM TO SEE THE DARK BROWED LIBYAN LEAN TO COOL THE TORTURED BURNING OF THE LASH I SEE THE FOUNTAINS AS THEY LEAP AND FLASH THE RUSTLING SWAY OF CYPRESS SET BETWEEN
phonemes: bˌʌt ˈaɪ fɔːɹ mˌiː ðɪs ˈoʊld wˈɜːd kˈɑːlənˌeɪd sˈiːmz ˈoʊpən tə blˈuː sˈʌmɚ skˈaɪz wˈʌns mˈɔːɹ, ðiːz ˈɔltɚz pˈæs, ænd ɔnðə pˈɑːlɪʃt flˈɔːɹ aɪ sˈiː ðə lˈaɪnz ʌv tʃˈɛkɚd lˈaɪt ænd ʃˈeɪd; aɪ sˈiːm tə sˈiː ðə dˈɑːɹk bɹˈaʊd lˈaɪbiən lˈiːn tuː kˈuːl ðə tˈɔːɹtʃɚd bˈɜːnɪŋ ʌvðə lˈæʃ, aɪ sˈiː ðə fˈaʊntɪnz æz ðeɪ lˈiːp ænd flˈæʃ, ðə ɹˈʌsəlɪŋ swˈeɪ ʌv sˈaɪpɹəs sˈɛt bᵻtwˈiːn.