text_original: Can you recall your feelings when, as a boy, you passed through a graveyard at the hour of dusk, thinking, with the poet, 'T is now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world?
text_transcription: CAN YOU RECALL YOUR FEELINGS WHEN AS A BOY YOU PASS THROUGH THE GRAVEYARD AT THE HOUR OF DUSK THINKING WITH THE POET TIS NOW THE VERY WITCHING TIME OF NIGHT WHEN CHURCHYARDS YAWN AND HELL ITSELF BREATHES OUT CONTAGION TO THIS WORLD
phonemes: kæn juː ɹᵻkˈɔːl jʊɹ fˈiːlɪŋz wˈɛn, æz ɐ bˈɔɪ, juː pˈæst θɹuː ɐ ɡɹˈeɪvjɑːɹd æt ðɪ ˈaʊɚɹ ʌv dˈʌsk, θˈɪŋkɪŋ, wɪððə pˈoʊɪt, tˈiː ɪz nˈaʊ ðə vˈɛɹi wˈɪtʃɪŋ tˈaɪm ʌv nˈaɪt, wˌɛn tʃˈɜːtʃjɑːɹdz jˈɔːn, ænd hˈɛl ɪtsˈɛlf bɹˈiːðz ˈaʊt kəntˈeɪdʒən tə ðɪs wˈɜːld?