text_original: Looking to day across the space, Beyond the flower fringed track Which once was road, the eye can trace The outlines of a cellar place, A half burned chimney back : They mark the ruins of a home Now empty, cold, and black.
text_transcription: LOOKING TO DAY ACROSS THE SPACE BEYOND THE FLOWER FRINGED TRACK WHICH ONCE WAS ROWED THE EYE CAN TRACE THE OUTLINES OF A CELLAR PLACE A HALF BURNED CHIMNEY BACK THEY MARK THE RUINS OF A HOME NOW EMPTY COLD AND BLACK
phonemes: lˈʊkɪŋ tə dˈeɪ əkɹˌɑːs ðə spˈeɪs, bᵻjˌɔnd ðə flˈaʊɚ fɹˈɪndʒd tɹˈæk wˌɪtʃ wˈʌns wʌz ɹˈoʊd, ðɪ ˈaɪ kæn tɹˈeɪs ðɪ ˈaʊtlaɪnz əvə sˈɛlɚ plˈeɪs, ɐ hˈæf bˈɜːnd tʃˈɪmni bˈæk : ðeɪ mˈɑːɹk ðə ɹˈuːɪnz əvə hˈoʊm nˈaʊ ˈɛmpti, kˈoʊld, ænd blˈæk.