Poems

FIRST 

Oh, Beauty, passing beauty! sweetest Sweet!

How canst thou let me waste my youth in sighs;

I only ask to sit beside thy feet.

Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes,

Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare not fold

My arms about thee-scarcely dare to speak.

And nothing seems to me so wild and bold,

As with one kiss to touch thy blessèd cheek.

Methinks if I should kiss thee, no control

Within the thrilling brain could keep afloat

The subtle spirit. Even while I spoke,

The bare word KISS hath made my inner soul

To tremble like a lutestring, ere the note

Hath melted in the silence that it broke.

TRANSCRIPTION...

oʊ, ˈbjuːtiː, ˈpæsɪŋ ˈbjuːtiː!  ˈswiːt!

ˈhæʊ kənst ˈðæʊ ˈlet ˈmiː ˈweɪst ˈmaɪ ˈjuːθ ˈɪn ˈsaɪz;

ˈaɪ ˈoʊnliː ˈæsk tə ˈsɪt bɪˈsaɪd ˈðaɪ .

ˈðæʊ  ˈaɪ ˈder ˈnɑt ˈlʊk ˈɪntuː ˈðaɪn ˈaɪz,

ˈmaɪt ˈaɪ ˈbət ˈkɪs ˈðaɪ ˈhænd! ˈaɪ ˈder ˈnɑt ˈfoʊld

ˈmaɪ ˈɑrmz əˈbæʊt  ˈder tə ˈspiːk.

ənd ˈnəθɪŋ ˈsiːmz tə ˈmiː ˈsoʊ ˈwaɪld ənd ˈboʊld,

əz ˈwɪð ˈwən ˈkɪs tə ˈtətʃ ˈðaɪ  ˈtʃiːk.

mɪˈθɪŋ(k)s ˈɪf ˈaɪ ʃəd ˈkɪs ˈðiː, ˈnoʊ kənˈtroʊl

wɪˈðɪn ðə ˈθrɪlɪŋ ˈbreɪn kəd ˈkiːp əˈfloʊt

ðə ˈsətəl ˈspɪrət. ˈiːvən ˈwaɪl ˈaɪ ˈspoʊk,

ðə ˈber ˈwərd ˈkɪs ˈhæθ ˈmeɪd ˈmaɪ ˈɪnər ˈsoʊl

tə ˈtrembəl ˈlaɪk ə ˈluːtstrɪŋ, ˈer ðə ˈnoʊt

ˈhæθ ˈmeltɪd ˈɪn ðə ˈsaɪləns ˈðæt ˈɪt ˈbroʊk.