text_original: Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The ploughboy is whooping— anon— anon There's joy on the mountains; There's life in the fountains; Small clouds arc sailing.
text_transcription: LIKE AN ARMY DEFEATED THE SNOW HATH RETREATED AND NOW DOTH FARE ILL ON THE TOP OF THE BARE HILL THE PLOUGHBOY IS WHOOPING ANON ANON THERE'S JOY ON THE MOUNTAINS THERE'S LIFE IN THE FOUNTAINS SMALL CLOUDS ARE SAILING
phonemes: lˈaɪk ɐn ˈɑːɹmi dᵻfˈiːɾᵻd ðə snˈoʊ hæθ ɹᵻtɹˈiːɾᵻd, ænd nˈaʊ dʌθ fˈɛɹ ˈɪl ɔnðə tˈɑːp ʌvðə bˈɛɹ hˈɪl; ðə plˈaʊbɔɪ ɪz wˈuːpɪŋ— ɐnˈɔn— ɐnˈɔn ðɛɹz dʒˈɔɪ ɔnðə mˈaʊntɪnz; ðɛɹz lˈaɪf ɪnðə fˈaʊntɪnz; smˈɔːl klˈaʊdz ˈɑːɹk sˈeɪlɪŋ.