text_original: And though life is grown tired and old, And the treasures of heart and of soul Are sold for a handful of coin, It stirs with a vital control In man and in woman and earth, As on Sappho's lips haunted with flame, Or as under the hand of the Christ It burned it is ever the same. And while ever the sunrise returns It shall still be
text_transcription: AND THOUGH LIFE IS GROWN TIRED AND OLD AND THE TREASURES OF HEART AND OF SOUL ARE SOLD FOR A HANDFUL OF COIN IT STIRS WITH A VITAL CONTROL IN MAN AND IN WOMAN AND EARTH AS ON SAPPHO'S LIPS HAUNTED WITH FLAME OR AS UNDER THE HAND OF THE CHRIST IT BURNED IT IS EVER THE SAME AND WHILE EVER THE SUNRISE RETURNS IT SHALL STILL BE
phonemes: ænd ðˌoʊ lˈaɪf ɪz ɡɹˈoʊn tˈaɪɚd ænd ˈoʊld, ænd ðə tɹˈɛʒɚz ʌv hˈɑːɹt ænd ʌv sˈoʊl ɑːɹ sˈoʊld fɚɹə hˈændfəl ʌv kˈɔɪn, ɪt stˈɜːz wɪð ɐ vˈaɪɾəl kəntɹˈoʊl ɪn mˈæn ænd ɪn wˈʊmən ænd ˈɜːθ, æz ˌɔn sˈæfoʊz lˈɪps hˈɔːntᵻd wɪð flˈeɪm, ɔːɹ æz ˌʌndɚ ðə hˈænd ʌvðə kɹˈaɪst ɪt bˈɜːnd ɪɾ ɪz ˈɛvɚ ðə sˈeɪm. ænd wˌaɪl ˈɛvɚ ðə sˈʌnɹaɪz ɹᵻtˈɜːnz ɪt ʃˌæl stˈɪl bˈiː