text_original: Once more she turned away and fell into a revery. Over the housetop, from across the street, came the gay music of the fiddler. Mrs. Temple laid her hand gently on my shoulder. "My dear," she said, smiling, "I could not live for the journey."
text_transcription: ONCE MORE SHE TURNED AWAY AND FELL INTO A REVERIE OVER THE HOUSETOP FROM ACROSS THE STREET CAME THE GAY MUSIC OF THE FIDDLER MISSUS TEMPLE LAID HER HAND GENTLY ON MY SHOULDER MY DEAR SHE SAID SMILING I COULD NOT LIVE FOR THE JOURNEY
phonemes: wˈʌns mˈɔːɹ ʃiː tˈɜːnd ɐwˈeɪ ænd fˈɛl ˌɪntʊ ɐ ɹˈɛvɚɹi. ˌoʊvɚ ðə hˈaʊstɑːp, fɹʌm əkɹˌɑːs ðə stɹˈiːt, kˈeɪm ðə ɡˈeɪ mjˈuːzɪk ʌvðə fˈɪdlɚ. mˈɪsɪz. tˈɛmpəl lˈeɪd hɜː hˈænd dʒˈɛntli ˌɔn maɪ ʃˈoʊldɚ. "maɪ dˈɪɹ," ʃiː sˈɛd, smˈaɪlɪŋ, "aɪ kʊd nˌɑːt lˈɪv fɚðə dʒˈɜːni."