text_original: Yet I, whose search loved not to peep and peer In the face of things, Thought with myself, there might be other springs Beside this here, Which, like cold friends, sees us but once a year; And so the flower Might have some other bower.
text_transcription: YET I WHOSE SEARCH LOVED NOT TO PEEP AND PEER IN THE FACE OF THINGS THOUGHT WITH MYSELF THERE MIGHT BE OTHER SPRINGS BESIDE THIS HERE WHICH LIKE COLD FRIENDS SEIZE US BUT ONCE A YEAR AND SO THE FLOWER MIGHT HAVE SOME OTHER BOWER
phonemes: jˈɛt ˈaɪ, hˌuːz sˈɜːtʃ lˈʌvd nˌɑːt tə pˈiːp ænd pˈɪɹ ɪnðə fˈeɪs ʌv θˈɪŋz, θˈɔːt wɪð maɪsˈɛlf, ðɛɹ mˌaɪt biː ˈʌðɚ spɹˈɪŋz bᵻsˌaɪd ðɪs hˈɪɹ, wˈɪtʃ, lˈaɪk kˈoʊld fɹˈɛndz, sˈiːz ˌʌs bˌʌt wˈʌns ɐ jˈɪɹ; ænd sˌoʊ ðə flˈaʊɚ mˌaɪthɐv sˌʌm ˈʌðɚ bˈaʊɚ.