text_original: VII Oh, let it knock upon our door, That hand that taps with futile touch; We have our joy, the rest  what can it offer more? The rest with futile, listless touch? Let them pass our door, The wearied, mirthless joys With their tinsel and their toys.
text_transcription: DOOR OH LET IT KNOCK UPON OUR DOOR THAT HAND THAT TAPS WITH FUTILE TOUCH WE HAVE OUR JOY THE REST WHAT CAN IT OFFER MORE THE REST WITH FUTILE LISTLESS TOUCH LET THEM PASS OUR DOOR THE WEARIED MIRTHLESS JOYS WITH THEIR TINSEL AND THEIR TOYS
phonemes: ɹˌoʊmən sˈɛvən ˈoʊ, lˈɛt ɪt nˈɑːk əpˌɑːn ˌaʊɚ dˈɔːɹ, ðæt hˈænd ðæt tˈæps wɪð fjˈuːɾəl tˈʌtʃ; wiː hæv ˌaʊɚ dʒˈɔɪ, ðə ɹˈɛst wʌt kæn ɪɾ ˈɔfɚ mˈɔːɹ? ðə ɹˈɛst wɪð fjˈuːɾəl, lˈɪstləs tˈʌtʃ? lˈɛt ðˌɛm pˈæs ˌaʊɚ dˈɔːɹ, ðə wˈɪɹid, mˈɜːθləs dʒˈɔɪz wɪð ðɛɹ tˈɪnsəl ænd ðɛɹ tˈɔɪz.