text_original: Stand at a moorland's edge and gaze Across the hush and blaze Of the clear burning, verdant summer bracken ; For in that silver flame Is writ July's own name — The ineffectual, numbed sweet Of passion at its heat.
text_transcription: STAND AT A MOORLAND'S EDGE AND GAZE ACROSS THE HUSH AND BLAZE OF THE CLEAR BURNING VERDANT SUMMER BRACKEN FOR IN THAT SILVER FLAME IS WRIT JULY'S OWN NAME THE INEFFECTUAL NUMB SWEET OF PASSION AT ITS HEAT
phonemes: stˈænd æɾə mˈʊɹləndz ˈɛdʒ ænd ɡˈeɪz əkɹˌɑːs ðə hˈʌʃ ænd blˈeɪz ʌvðə klˈɪɹ bˈɜːnɪŋ, vˈɜːdənt sˈʌmɚ bɹˈækən ; fɔːɹ ɪn ðæt sˈɪlvɚ flˈeɪm ɪz ɹˈɪt dʒuːlˈaɪz ˈoʊn nˈeɪm — ðɪ ɪnɪfˈɛktʃuːəl, nˈʌmd swˈiːt ʌv pˈæʃən æɾ ɪts hˈiːt.