text_original: They are a mystery to us, like the cankered buds and blighted blossoms of our gardens. Or it may be, that there is no corruption or decay, but only torpidity, induced by the protraction of their polar night of adversity.
text_transcription: THEY ARE A MYSTERY TO US LIKE THE CANKERED BUDS AND BLIGHTED BLOSSOMS OF OUR GARDENS OR IT MAY BE THAT THERE IS NO CORRUPTION NOR DECAY BUT ONLY TORPIDITY INDUCED BY THE PROTRACTION OF THE POLAR NIGHT OF ADVERSITY
phonemes: ðeɪ ɑːɹ ɐ mˈɪstɚɹi tʊ ˌʌs, lˈaɪk ðə kˈæŋkɚd bˈʌdz ænd blˈaɪɾᵻd blˈɔsəmz ʌv ˌaʊɚ ɡˈɑːɹdənz. ɔːɹ ɪt mˈeɪ bˈiː, ðæt ðɛɹ ɪz nˈoʊ kɚɹˈʌpʃən ɔːɹ dᵻkˈeɪ, bˌʌt ˈoʊnli tɔːɹpˈɪdᵻɾi, ɪndˈuːst baɪ ðə pɹətɹˈækʃən ʌv ðɛɹ pˈoʊlɚ nˈaɪt ʌv ædvˈɚsᵻɾi.