text_original: A white moth flits from tree to tree Like a wandering soul; Deep in the lily a muffled boom Tells of a honey drunken bee Wildered with sweets in that ivory bowl; Many a subtle melody, Many a rare sound all unknown To the lusty daylight's fuller tone Threads with its magic this hush and gloom.
text_transcription: A WHITE MOTH FLITS FROM TREE TO TREE LIKE A WANDERING SOUL DEEP IN THE LILY A MUFFLED BOOM TELLS OF A HONEY DRUNKEN BEE BEWILDERED WITH SWEETS IN THAT IVORY POOL MANY A SEPTIMALITY MANY A RARE SOUND ALL UNKNOWN TO THE LUSTY DAYLIGHT'S FULLER TONE THREATS WITH ITS MAGIC THIS HUSH AND GLOOM
phonemes: ɐ wˈaɪt mˈɑːθ flˈɪts fɹʌm tɹˈiː tə tɹˈiː lˈaɪk ɐ wˈɔndɚɹɪŋ sˈoʊl; dˈiːp ɪnðə lˈɪli ɐ mˈʌfəld bˈuːm tˈɛlz əvə hˈʌni dɹˈʌŋkən bˈiː wˈaɪldɚd wɪð swˈiːts ɪn ðæt ˈaɪvɚɹi bˈoʊl; mˈɛni ɐ sˈʌɾəl mˈɛlədi, mˈɛni ɐ ɹˈɛɹ sˈaʊnd ˈɔːl ʌnnˈoʊn tə ðə lˈʌsti dˈeɪlaɪts fˈʊlɚ tˈoʊn θɹˈɛdz wɪð ɪts mˈædʒɪk ðɪs hˈʌʃ ænd ɡlˈuːm.