text_original: And what her thoughts are nobody knows, She sits with her secret hid, unguessed, With her strange eyes bent on the distant west, So the slow years come, and the slow year goes, O'er the Lady Cecile. Forty years!
text_transcription: AND WHAT HER THOUGHTS ARE NOBODY KNOWS SHE SITS WITH HER SECRET HID UNGUESSED WITH HER STRANGE EYES BENT ON THE DISTANT WEST SO THE SLOW YEARS COME AND THE SLOW YEAR GOES O'ER THE LADY CECIL FORTY YEARS
phonemes: ænd wʌt hɜː θˈɔːts ɑːɹ nˈoʊbɑːdi nˈoʊz, ʃiː sˈɪts wɪð hɜː sˈiːkɹᵻt hˈɪd, ˈʌŋɡɛst, wɪð hɜː stɹˈeɪndʒ ˈaɪz bˈɛnt ɔnðə dˈɪstənt wˈɛst, sˌoʊ ðə slˈoʊ jˈɪɹz kˈʌm, ænd ðə slˈoʊ jˈɪɹ ɡˈoʊz, ˈɔːɹ ðə lˈeɪdi sˈɛsiːl. fˈɔːɹɾi jˈɪɹz!