text_original: Whether the people in the street Like pattering ripples go by, Or whether the theatre sighs and sighs With a loud, hoarse sigh: Or the wind shakes a ravel of light Over the dead black river, Or night's last echoing Makes the daybreak shiver: I feel the silence waiting To take them all up again In its vast completeness, enfolding The sound of men.
text_transcription: WHETHER THE PEOPLE IN THE STREET LIKE PATTERING RIPPLES GO BY OR WHETHER THE THEATER SIGHS AND SIGHS WITH A LOUD HOARSE SIGH OR THE WIND SHAKES A REVEL OF LIGHT OVER THE DEAD BLACK RIVER OR NIGHT'S LAST ECHOING MAKES THE DAYBREAK SHIVER I FEEL THE SILENCE WAITING TO TAKE THEM ALL UP AGAIN IN ITS VAST COMPLETENESS UNFOLDING THE SOUND OF MAN
phonemes: wˈɛðɚ ðə pˈiːpəl ɪnðə stɹˈiːt lˈaɪk pˈæɾɚɹɪŋ ɹˈɪpəlz ɡˌoʊ bˈaɪ, ɔːɹ wˈɛðɚ ðə θˈiəɾɚ sˈaɪz ænd sˈaɪz wɪð ɐ lˈaʊd, hˈɔːɹs sˈaɪ: ɔːɹ ðə wˈɪnd ʃˈeɪks ɐ ɹˈævəl ʌv lˈaɪt ˌoʊvɚ ðə dˈɛd blˈæk ɹˈɪvɚ, ɔːɹ nˈaɪts lˈæst ˈɛkoʊɪŋ mˌeɪks ðə dˈeɪbɹeɪk ʃˈɪvɚ: aɪ fˈiːl ðə sˈaɪləns wˈeɪɾɪŋ tə tˈeɪk ðˌɛm ˈɔːl ˌʌp ɐɡˈɛn ɪn ɪts vˈæst kəmplˈiːtnəs, ɛnfˈoʊldɪŋ ðə sˈaʊnd ʌv mˈɛn.