text_original: Note now the rapture in his cautious eye, The conflagration lit along his track. Winged soul of beauty, tropic in desire, Thy love seems alien in our northern zone; Thou giv'st to our green lands a burst of fire And callest back the fables we disown.
text_transcription: NOTE NOW THE RAPTURE IN HIS CAUTIOUS EYE THE CONFLAGRATION LIT ALONG HIS TRACK WINGED SOUL OF BEAUTY TROPIC IN DESIRE THY LOVE SEEMS ALIEN IN OUR NORTHERN ZONE THOU GIVEST TO OUR GREEN LANDS A BURST OF FIRE AND CALLEST BACK THE FABLES WE DISOWN
phonemes: nˈoʊt nˈaʊ ðə ɹˈæptʃɚɹ ɪn hɪz kˈɔːʃəs ˈaɪ, ðə kɑːnflɐɡɹˈeɪʃən lˈɪt ɐlˈɔŋ hɪz tɹˈæk. wˈɪŋd sˈoʊl ʌv bjˈuːɾi, tɹˈɑːpɪk ɪn dɪzˈaɪɚ, ðˌaɪ lˈʌv sˈiːmz ˈeɪliən ɪn ˌaʊɚ nˈɔːɹðɚn zˈoʊn; ðˈaʊ dʒˈɪvst tʊ ˌaʊɚ ɡɹˈiːn lˈændz ɐ bˈɜːst ʌv fˈaɪɚ ænd kˈɔːlɪst bˈæk ðə fˈeɪbəlz wiː dɪsˈoʊn.