text_original: I love, O, how I love to ride On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, THE Si: A. 381 When every mad wave drowns the moon, Or whistles aloft his tempest 1um\ And tells how goeth the world below, And why the sou'west blasts do blow.
text_transcription: I LOVE O HOW I LOVE TO RIDE ON THE FIERCE FOAMING BURSTING TIDE WHEN EVERY MAD WAVE DROWNS THE MOON OR WHISTLES ALOFT HIS TEMPEST TUNE AND TELLS HOW GOETH THE WORLD BELOW AND WHY THE SOUTH BLASTS DO BLOW
phonemes: aɪ lˈʌv, ˈoʊ, hˌaʊ aɪ lˈʌv tə ɹˈaɪd ɔnðə fˈɪɹs, fˈoʊmɪŋ, bˈɜːstɪŋ tˈaɪd, ðə sˈiː: ˈeɪ. θɹˈiːhˈʌndɹɪd ˈeɪɾi wˈʌn wɛn ˈɛvɹi mˈæd wˈeɪv dɹˈaʊnz ðə mˈuːn, ɔːɹ wˈɪsəlz ɐlˈɔft hɪz tˈɛmpɪst wˈʌn ˈʌm bˈækslæʃ ænd tˈɛlz hˌaʊ ɡˌoʊəθ ðə wˈɜːld bᵻlˈoʊ, ænd wˌaɪ ðə sˈaʊwɪst blˈæsts dˈuː blˈoʊ.