text_original: I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
text_transcription: I FEEL THE GALES THAT FROM YE BLOW A MOMENTARY BLISS BESTOW AS WAVING FRESH THEIR GLADSOME WING MY WEARY SOUL THEY SEEM TO SOOTHE AND REDOLENT OF JOY AND YOUTH TO BREATHE A SECOND SPRING
phonemes: aɪ fˈiːl ðə ɡˈeɪlz ðæt fɹʌm jiː blˈoʊ ɐ mˈoʊməntˌɛɹi blˈɪs bᵻstˈoʊ, æz wˈeɪvɪŋ fɹˈɛʃ ðɛɹ ɡlˈædsʌm wˈɪŋ, maɪ wˈɪɹi sˈoʊl ðeɪ sˈiːm tə sˈuːð, ænd, ɹˈɛdələnt ʌv dʒˈɔɪ ænd jˈuːθ, tə bɹˈiːð ɐ sˈɛkənd spɹˈɪŋ.