text_original: Thick crowd the doves for food. She gives ME none. She sees and will not see. Vain are my sighs. One slow, reluctant stroke. Aha! she turns, Gestures and smiles, with coy and feigned surprise.
text_transcription: THICK CROWD THE DOVES FOR FOOD SHE GIVES ME NONE SHE SEES AND WILL NOT SEE VAIN ARE MY SIGHS ONE SLOW RELUCTANT STROKE AHA SHE TURNS GESTURES AND SMILES WITH COY AND FEIGNED SURPRISE
phonemes: θˈɪk kɹˈaʊd ðə dˈʌvz fɔːɹ fˈuːd. ʃiː ɡˈɪvz mˌiː nˈʌn. ʃiː sˈiːz ænd wɪl nˌɑːt sˈiː. vˈeɪn ɑːɹ maɪ sˈaɪz. wˈʌn slˈoʊ, ɹᵻlˈʌktənt stɹˈoʊk. ɑːhˈɑː! ʃiː tˈɜːnz, dʒˈɛstʃɚz ænd smˈaɪlz, wɪð kˈɔɪ ænd fˈeɪnd sɚpɹˈaɪz.