text_original: Nor I alone,— a thousand bosoms round Inhale thee in the fulness of delight; And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound Livelier, at coming of the wind of night; And languishing to hear thy welcome sound, Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the Bight.
text_transcription: NOR I ALONE A THOUSAND BOSOMS ROUND INHALE THEE IN THE FULLNESS OF DELIGHT AND LANGUID FORMS RISE UP AND PULSES BOUND LIVELIER AT COMING OF THE WIND OF NIGHT AND LANGUISHING TO HEAR THEIR WELCOME SOUND LIES THE VAST INLAND STRETCHED BEYOND THE SIGHT
phonemes: nˈɔːɹ aɪ ɐlˈoʊn,— ɐ θˈaʊzənd bˈʊzəmz ɹˈaʊnd ɪnhˈeɪl ðiː ɪnðə fˈʌlnəs ʌv dᵻlˈaɪt; ænd lˈæŋɡwɪd fˈɔːɹmz ɹˈaɪz ˈʌp, ænd pˈʌlsᵻz bˈaʊnd lˈaɪvlɪɚ, æt kˈʌmɪŋ ʌvðə wˈɪnd ʌv nˈaɪt; ænd lˈæŋɡwɪʃɪŋ tə hˈɪɹ ðˌaɪ wˈɛlkʌm sˈaʊnd, lˈaɪz ðə vˈæst ˈɪnlənd, stɹˈɛtʃt bᵻjˌɔnd ðə bˈaɪt.