text_original: Where cushioned walls rise up between Its inmates and the common air, The common pain, and pad and screen From blows of fate or winds of care? Where Art may blossom strong and free, And Pleasure furl her silken wing, And every laden moment be A precious and peculiar thing?
text_transcription: WHERE CUSHIONED WALLS RISE UP BETWEEN ITS INMATES AND THE COMMON AIR THE COMMON PAIN AND PATENT SCREEN FROM BLOWS OF FATE OR WINDS OF CARE WHERE ART MAY BLOSSOM STRONG AND FREE AND PLEASURE FURL HER SILKEN WING AND EVERY LADEN MOMENT BE A PRECIOUS AND PECULIAR THING
phonemes: wˌɛɹ kˈʊʃənd wˈɔːlz ɹˈaɪz ˌʌp bᵻtwˌiːn ɪts ˈɪnmeɪts ænd ðə kˈɑːmən ˈɛɹ, ðə kˈɑːmən pˈeɪn, ænd pˈæd ænd skɹˈiːn fɹʌm blˈoʊz ʌv fˈeɪt ɔːɹ wˈɪndz ʌv kˈɛɹ? wˌɛɹ ˈɑːɹt mˈeɪ blˈɔsəm stɹˈɔŋ ænd fɹˈiː, ænd plˈɛʒɚ fˈɜːl hɜː sˈɪlkən wˈɪŋ, ænd ˈɛvɹi lˈeɪdən mˈoʊmənt biː ɐ pɹˈɛʃəs ænd pɪkjˈuːlɪɹ θˈɪŋ?