text_original: Or could my gaze more tenderly entwine Each pallid beech and silvery sycamore Outreaching arms in patience to divine If winter's o'er? Ah no, the wind has blown into my veins The blue infinity of sky, the sense Of meadows free to day from icy pains   From wintry vents.
text_transcription: OR COULD MY GAZE MORE TENDERLY ENTWINE EACH PALLID BEECH AND SILVERY SYCAMORE OUTREACHING ARMS IN PATIENCE TO DIVINE IF WINTER'S OVER AH NO THE WIND HAS BLOWN INTO MY VEINS THE BLUE INFINITY OF SKY THE SCENTS OF MEADOWS FREE TO DAY FROM ICY PANES FROM WINTRY THENCE
phonemes: ɔːɹ kʊd maɪ ɡˈeɪz mˈɔːɹ tˈɛndɚli ɛntwˈaɪn ˈiːtʃ pˈælɪd bˈiːtʃ ænd sˈɪlvɚɹi sˈɪkɐmˌɔːɹ aʊtɹˈiːtʃɪŋ ˈɑːɹmz ɪn pˈeɪʃəns tə dᵻvˈaɪn ɪf wˈɪntɚz ˈɔːɹ? ˈɑː nˈoʊ, ðə wˈɪnd hɐz blˈoʊn ˌɪntʊ maɪ vˈeɪnz ðə blˈuː ɪnfˈɪnᵻɾi ʌv skˈaɪ, ðə sˈɛns ʌv mˈɛdoʊz fɹˈiː tə dˈeɪ fɹʌm ˈaɪsi pˈeɪnz fɹʌm wˈɪntɹi vˈɛnts.