text_original: To those whom damask hues beguile Her praise I do not speak, I find her colour in the smile Warm on her warm, blond cheek : Then to the eyes away It spreads, those eyes of mystic gray That with mirage of their own vision play. Her h^r, about her brow, bums bright.
text_transcription: TO THOSE WHOM DAMASCUSE BEGUILE HER PRAISE I DO NOT SPEAK I FIND HER COLOUR IN THE SMILE WARM ON HER WARM BLOND CHEEK THEN TO THE EYES AWAY IT SPREADS THOSE EYES OF MYSTIC GREY THAT WITH MIRAGE OF THEIR OWN VISION PLAY HER HAIR ABOUT HER BROW BURNS BRIGHT
phonemes: tə ðoʊz hˈuːm dˈæmæsk hjˈuːz bᵻɡˈaɪl hɜː pɹˈeɪz aɪ duːnˌɑːt spˈiːk, aɪ fˈaɪnd hɜː kˈʌlɚɹ ɪnðə smˈaɪl wˈɔːɹm ˌɔn hɜː wˈɔːɹm, blˈɑːnd tʃˈiːk : ðˈɛn tə ðɪ ˈaɪz ɐwˈeɪ ɪt spɹˈɛdz, ðoʊz ˈaɪz ʌv mˈɪstɪk ɡɹˈeɪ ðæt wɪð mɚɹˈɑːʒ ʌv ðɛɹ ˈoʊn vˈɪʒən plˈeɪ. hɜːɹ ˈeɪtʃ ˈɑːɹ, ɐbˌaʊt hɜː bɹˈaʊ, bˈʌmz bɹˈaɪt.