text_original: Ill Over the rim of the sunset is blown Sea dusk of purple and gold, Speed now the wanderers back to their own. Wings the most tireless must fold. Homeward together at twilight they flock. Sated with joys of the deep.
text_transcription: OVER THE RIM OF THE SUNSET IS BLOWN SEA DUSK OF PURPLE AND GOLD SPEED NOW THE WANDERERS BACK TO THEIR OWN WINGS THE MOST TIRELESS MUST FOLD HOMEWARD TOGETHER AT TWILIGHT THEY FLOCK SATED WITH JOYS OF THE DEEP
phonemes: ˈɪl ˌoʊvɚ ðə ɹˈɪm ʌvðə sˈʌnsɛt ɪz blˈoʊn sˈiː dˈʌsk ʌv pˈɜːpəl ænd ɡˈoʊld, spˈiːd nˈaʊ ðə wˈɔndɚɹɚz bˈæk tə ðɛɹ ˈoʊn. wˈɪŋz ðə mˈoʊst tˈaɪɚləs mˈʌst fˈoʊld. hˈoʊmwɚd təɡˌɛðɚɹ æt twˈaɪlaɪt ðeɪ flˈɑːk. sˈeɪɾᵻd wɪð dʒˈɔɪz ʌvðə dˈiːp.