text_original: Then on it came, till the white lake hissed. At the touch of its short sharp breath. And our words were few, for the game, we knew. Must be played for life and death. And the good boat leant till she seemed to strike The water's face with her mast.
text_transcription: THEN ON IT CAME TILL THE WHITE LAKE HISSED AT THE TOUCH OF ITS SHORT SHARP BREATH AND OUR WORDS WERE FEW FOR THE GAME WE KNEW WAS A GAME OF LIFE AND DEATH AND THE GOOD BOAT LEANT TILL SHE SEEMED TO STRIKE THE WATER'S FACE WITH HER MAST
phonemes: ðˈɛn ˌɔn ɪt kˈeɪm, tˈɪl ðə wˈaɪt lˈeɪk hˈɪst. æt ðə tˈʌtʃ ʌv ɪts ʃˈɔːɹt ʃˈɑːɹp bɹˈɛθ. ænd ˌaʊɚ wˈɜːdz wɜː fjˈuː, fɚðə ɡˈeɪm, wiː nˈuː. mˈʌst biː plˈeɪd fɔːɹ lˈaɪf ænd dˈɛθ. ænd ðə ɡˈʊd bˈoʊt lˈɛnt tˈɪl ʃiː sˈiːmd tə stɹˈaɪk ðə wˈɔːɾɚz fˈeɪs wɪð hɜː mˈæst.