text_original: Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine; I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
text_transcription: TEACHERS SPRITE OR BIRD WHAT SWEET THOUGHTS ARE THINE I HAVE NEVER HEARD PRAISE OF LOVE OR WINE THAT PANTED FORTH A FLOOD OF RAPTURE SO DIVINE
phonemes: tˈiːtʃ ˌʌs, spɹˈaɪt ɔːɹ bˈɜːd, wˌʌt swˈiːt θˈɔːts ɑːɹ ðˈaɪn; aɪ hæv nˈɛvɚ hˈɜːd pɹˈeɪz ʌv lˈʌv ɔːɹ wˈaɪn ðæt pˈæntᵻd fˈɔːɹθ ɐ flˈʌd ʌv ɹˈæptʃɚ sˌoʊ dᵻvˈaɪn.