text_original: Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, 298 POEMS OF NATURE. Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.
text_transcription: KEEN AS ARE THE ARROWS OF THAT SILVER SPHERE WHOSE INTENSE LAMP NARROWS IN THE WHITE DAWN CLEAR UNTIL WE HARDLY SEE WE FEEL THAT IT IS THERE
phonemes: kˈiːn æz ɑːɹ ðɪ ˈæɹoʊz ʌv ðæt sˈɪlvɚ sfˈɪɹ, tˈuːhˈʌndɹɪd nˈaɪnti ˈeɪt pˈoʊᵻmz ʌv nˈeɪtʃɚ. hˌuːz ɪntˈɛns lˈæmp nˈæɹoʊz ɪnðə wˈaɪt dˈɔːn klˈɪɹ, ʌntˈɪl wiː hˈɑːɹdli sˈiː, wiː fˈiːl ðˌɐɾɪt ɪz ðˈɛɹ.