text_original: 89 IN a vase of gold And scarlet, how cold The flicker of wrinkled grays In this iris sheaf ! My eyes fill with wonder At the tossed, moist light, at the withered scales under And among the uncertain sprays.
text_transcription: IRISES IN A VASE OF GOLD AND SCARLET HOW COLD THE FLICKER OF WRINKLED GRAYS IN THIS IRISH SHEAF MY EYES FILL WITH WONDER AT THE TOSSED MOIST LIGHT AT THE WITHERED SCALES UNDER AND AMONG THE UNCERTAIN SPRAYS
phonemes: ˈeɪɾi nˈaɪn ɪn ɐ vˈeɪs ʌv ɡˈoʊld ænd skˈɑːɹlɪt, hˌaʊ kˈoʊld ðə flˈɪkɚɹ ʌv ɹˈɪŋkəld ɡɹˈeɪz ɪn ðɪs ˈaɪɹɪs ʃˈiːf ! maɪ ˈaɪz fˈɪl wɪð wˈʌndɚɹ æt ðə tˈɔst, mˈɔɪst lˈaɪt, æt ðə wˈɪðɚd skˈeɪlz ˌʌndɚ ænd ɐmˌʌŋ ðɪ ʌnsˈɜːʔn̩ spɹˈeɪz.