text_original: Along the vacant road, a red Bicycle approaches; I wait In a thaw of anxiety, for the boy To leap down at our gate. He has passed us by; but is it Relief that starts in my breast? Or a deeper bruise of knowing that still She has no rest.
text_transcription: ALONG THE VACANT ROAD A RED BICYCLE APPROACHES I WAIT IN A THAW OF ANXIETY FOR THE BOY TO LEAP DOWN AT OUR GATE HE HAS PASSED US BY BUT IS IT RELIEF THAT STARTS IN MY BREAST OR A DEEPER BRUISE OF KNOWING THAT STILL SHE HAS NO REST
phonemes: ɐlˈɔŋ ðə vˈeɪkənt ɹˈoʊd, ɐ ɹˈɛd bˈaɪsɪkəl ɐpɹˈoʊtʃᵻz; aɪ wˈeɪt ɪn ɐ θˈɔː ʌv æŋzˈaɪəɾi, fɚðə bˈɔɪ tə lˈiːp dˌaʊn æɾ ˌaʊɚ ɡˈeɪt. hiː hɐz pˈæst ˌʌs bˈaɪ; bˌʌt ɪz ɪt ɹᵻlˈiːf ðæt stˈɑːɹts ɪn maɪ bɹˈɛst? ɔːɹ ɐ dˈiːpɚ bɹˈuːz ʌv nˈoʊɪŋ ðæt stˈɪl ʃiː hɐz nˈoʊ ɹˈɛst.