text_original: Around my vine wreathed portico, At evening, there's a perfect glow Of little lights a flashing   As if the stellar bodies had From super heat grown hyper mad, And spend their ire in clashing.
text_transcription: AROUND MY VINE WREATHED PORTICO AT EVENING THERE'S A PERFECT GLOW OF LITTLE LIGHTS A FLASHING AS IF THE STELLA BODIES HAD FROM SUPER HEAT GROWN HYPOMED AND SPENT THEIR IRE IN CLASHING
phonemes: ɚɹˈaʊnd maɪ vˈaɪn ɹˈiːðd pˈɔːɹɾɪkˌoʊ, æɾ ˈiːvnɪŋ, ðɛɹz ɐ pˈɜːfɛkt ɡlˈoʊ ʌv lˈɪɾəl lˈaɪts ɐ flˈæʃɪŋ æz ɪf ðə stˈɛlɚ bˈɑːdiz hæd fɹʌm sˈuːpɚ hˈiːt ɡɹˈoʊn hˈaɪpɚ mˈæd, ænd spˈɛnd ðɛɹ ˈaɪɚɹ ɪn klˈæʃɪŋ.