text_original: In a theme where the thoughts have a pedant strut, In a changing quarrel of " Ayes " and " Noes," THOUGHT: POETRY: HOOKS. Ill In a starched procession of " If " and   But,"— There is place and enough for the pains of pro But whenever a soft glance softer grows And the light hours dance to the trysting time, And the secret is told " that no one knows,"— Then hey ! for the ripple of laughing rhyme
text_transcription: IN A THEME WHERE THE THOUGHTS HAVE A PEDANT STRUT IN A CHANGING QUARREL OF EYES AND NOSE IN A STARCHED PROCESSION OF IF AND BUT THERE IS PLACE AND ENOUGH FOR THE PAINS OF PROSE BUT WHENEVER A SOFT GLANCE SOFTER GROWS AND THE LIGHT HOUR STANDS TO THE TRYSTING TIME AND THE SECRET IS TOLD THAT NO ONE KNOWS THAN HEY FOR THE RIPPLE OF LAUGHING RHYME
phonemes: ɪn ɐ θˈiːm wˌɛɹ ðə θˈɔːts hæv ɐ pˈɛdənt stɹˈʌt, ɪn ɐ tʃˈeɪndʒɪŋ kwˈɔːɹəl ʌv " ˈaɪz " ænd " nˈoʊz," θˈɔːt: pˈoʊɪtɹi: hˈʊks. ˈɪl ɪn ɐ stˈɑːɹtʃt pɹəsˈɛʃən ʌv " ɪf " ænd bˌʌt,"— ðɛɹ ɪz plˈeɪs ænd ɪnˈʌf fɚðə pˈeɪnz ʌv pɹˈoʊ bˌʌt wɛnˌɛvɚɹ ɐ sˈɔft ɡlˈæns sˈɔftɚ ɡɹˈoʊz ænd ðə lˈaɪt ˈaʊɚz dˈæns tə ðə tɹˈɪstɪŋ tˈaɪm, ænd ðə sˈiːkɹᵻt ɪz tˈoʊld " ðæt nˈoʊwˈʌn nˈoʊz,"— ðˈɛn hˈeɪ ! fɚðə ɹˈɪpəl ʌv lˈæfɪŋ ɹˈaɪm