text_original: AUTUMN. How the sumac banners bent, dripping as if with blood, What a mournful presence brooded upon the slumbrous air; A mocking bird screamed noisily in the depth of the silent wood, And in my heart was crying the raven of despair, Thrilling my being through with its bitter, bitter cry   "It were better to die, it were better to die."
text_transcription: GOLUS HOW THE SUMAC BANNERS BENT DRIPPING AS IF WITH BLOOD WHAT A MOURNFUL PRESENCE BROODED UPON THE SLUMBROUS AIR A MOCKING BIRD SCREAMED NOISILY IN THE DEPTH OF THE SILENT WOOD AND IN MY HEART WAS CRYING THE RAVEN OF DESPAIR THRILLING MY BEING THROUGH WITH ITS BITTER BITTER CRY IT WERE BETTER TO DIE IT WERE BETTER TO DIE
phonemes: ˈɔːɾʌm. hˌaʊ ðə sˈuːmæk bˈænɚz bˈɛnt, dɹˈɪpɪŋ æz ɪf wɪð blˈʌd, wˌʌt ɐ mˈɔːɹnfəl pɹˈɛzəns bɹˈuːdᵻd əpˌɑːn ðə slˈʌmbɹəs ˈɛɹ; ɐ mˈɑːkɪŋ bˈɜːd skɹˈiːmd nˈɔɪzili ɪnðə dˈɛpθ ʌvðə sˈaɪlənt wˈʊd, ænd ɪn maɪ hˈɑːɹt wʌz kɹˈaɪɪŋ ðə ɹˈeɪvən ʌv dᵻspˈɛɹ, θɹˈɪlɪŋ maɪ bˌiːɪŋ θɹuː wɪð ɪts bˈɪɾɚ, bˈɪɾɚ kɹˈaɪ   "ɪt wɜː bˈɛɾɚ tə dˈaɪ, ɪt wɜː bˈɛɾɚ tə dˈaɪ."