text_original: A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern, A passing stranger scooped a well, where weary men might turn; He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the brink; He thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink.
text_transcription: A LITTLE SPRING HAD LOST ITS WAY AMID THE GRASS AND FERN A PASSING STRANGER SCOOPED A WELL WHERE WEARY MEN MIGHT TURN HE WALLED IT IN AND HUNG WITH CARE A LADLE AT THE BRINK HE THOUGHT NOT OF THE DEED HE DID BUT JUDGED THAT TOIL MIGHT DRINK
phonemes: ɐ lˈɪɾəl spɹˈɪŋ hæd lˈɔst ɪts wˈeɪ ɐmˈɪd ðə ɡɹˈæs ænd fˈɜːn, ɐ pˈæsɪŋ stɹˈeɪndʒɚ skˈuːpt ɐ wˈɛl, wˌɛɹ wˈɪɹi mˈɛn mˌaɪt tˈɜːn; hiː wˈɔːld ɪɾ ˈɪn, ænd hˈʌŋ wɪð kˈɛɹ ɐ lˈeɪdəl æt ðə bɹˈɪŋk; hiː θˈɔːt nˌɑːt ʌvðə dˈiːd hiː dˈɪd, bˌʌt dʒˈʌdʒd ðæt tˈɔɪl mˌaɪt dɹˈɪŋk.