text_original: LILIES, are you come ! I quail before you as your buds upswell ; It is the miracle Of fire and sculpture in your brazen urns That strikes me dumb, — Fire of midsummer that burns, And as it passes.
text_transcription: LILIES ARE YOU COME I QUAIL BEFORE YOU AS YOUR BUDS UPSWELL IT IS THE MIRACLE OF FIRE AND SCULPTURE IN YOUR BRAZEN URNS THAT STRIKES ME DUMB FIRE OF MIDSUMMER THAT BURNS AND AS IT PASSES
phonemes: lˈɪliz, ɑːɹ juː kˈʌm ! aɪ kwˈeɪl bᵻfˌɔːɹ juː æz jʊɹ bˈʌdz ˈʌpswɛl ; ɪɾ ɪz ðə mˈɪɹəkəl ʌv fˈaɪɚ ænd skˈʌlptʃɚɹ ɪn jʊɹ bɹˈeɪzən ˈɜːnz ðæt stɹˈaɪks mˌiː dˈʌm, — fˈaɪɚɹ ʌv mˈɪdsʌmɚ ðæt bˈɜːnz, ænd æz ɪt pˈæsᵻz.