text_original: Dear country home! Cim I forget The least of thy sweet trifles? The window vines that clamber yet, Whose bloom the bee still rifles? Digitized by OooqIc THE HOME. 321 The roadside blackberries, growing ripe, And in the woods the Indian Pipe?
text_transcription: DEAR COUNTRY HOME CAN I FORGET THE LEAST OF THY SWEET TRIFLES THE WINDOW VINES THAT CLAMBER YET WHOSE BLOOM THE BEE STILL RIFLES THE ROADSIDE BLACKBERRIES GROWING RIPE AND IN THE WOODS THE INDIAN PIPE
phonemes: dˈɪɹ kˈʌntɹi hˈoʊm! sˈɪm aɪ fɚɡˈɛt ðə lˈiːst ʌv ðˌaɪ swˈiːt tɹˈaɪfəlz? ðə wˈɪndoʊ vˈaɪnz ðæt klˈæmbɚ jˈɛt, hˌuːz blˈuːm ðə bˈiː stˈɪl ɹˈaɪfəlz? dˈɪdʒɪtˌaɪzd baɪ ˈuːɑːk ˈaɪk ðə hˈoʊm. θɹˈiːhˈʌndɹɪd twˈɛnti wˈʌn ðə ɹˈoʊdsaɪd blˈækbɛɹiz, ɡɹˈoʊɪŋ ɹˈaɪp, ænd ɪnðə wˈʊdz ðɪ ˈɪndiən pˈaɪp?