text_original: And still she haunts those woodland ways, Though all fond fancy finds there now To mind of spring or summer days, Are sodden trunk and songless bough.
text_transcription: AND STILL SHE HAUNTS THOSE WOODLAND WAYS THOUGH ALL FOND FANCY FINDS THERE NOW TO MIND OF SPRING OR SUMMER DAYS A SODDEN TRUNK AND SONGLESS BOUGH
phonemes: ænd stˈɪl ʃiː hˈɔːnts ðoʊz wˈʊdlənd wˈeɪz, ðˌoʊ ˈɔːl fˈɑːnd fˈænsi fˈaɪndz ðɛɹ nˈaʊ tə mˈaɪnd ʌv spɹˈɪŋ ɔːɹ sˈʌmɚ dˈeɪz, ɑːɹ sˈɑːdən tɹˈʌŋk ænd sˈɔŋləs bˈaʊ.