text_original: Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine; I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. Chorus hymeneal, Or triumphant chant, Matched w r ith thine, would be all But an empty vaunt, — A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.
text_transcription: TEACHERS SPRITE OR BIRD WHAT SWEET THOUGHTS ARE THINE I HAVE NEVER HEARD PRAISE OF LOVE OR WINE THAT PANTED FORTH A FLOOD OF RAPTURE SO DIVINE CHORUS HAMENEAL OR TRIUMPHANT CHANT MATCHED WITH THINE WOULD BE ALL BUT AN EMPTY VAUNT A THING WHEREIN WE FEEL THERE IS SOME HIDDEN WANT
phonemes: tˈiːtʃ ˌʌs, spɹˈaɪt ɔːɹ bˈɜːd, wˌʌt swˈiːt θˈɔːts ɑːɹ ðˈaɪn; aɪ hæv nˈɛvɚ hˈɜːd pɹˈeɪz ʌv lˈʌv ɔːɹ wˈaɪn ðæt pˈæntᵻd fˈɔːɹθ ɐ flˈʌd ʌv ɹˈæptʃɚ sˌoʊ dᵻvˈaɪn. kˈɔːɹəs hˈaɪmənˌiəl, ɔːɹ tɹaɪˈʌmfənt tʃˈænt, mˈætʃt dˈʌbəljˌuː ˈɑːɹ ˈɪθ ðˈaɪn, wʊd biː ˈɔːl bˌʌt ɐn ˈɛmpti vˈɔːnt, — ɐ θˈɪŋ wˈɛɹɪn wiː fˈiːl ðɛɹ ɪz sˌʌm hˈɪdən wˈɔnt.