text_original: You sent me a cloven fire Out of death, and it burns in the draught Of the breathing hosts, Kindles the darkening pyre For the sorrowful, till strange brands waft Like candid ghosts.
text_transcription: YOU SENT ME A CLOVEN FIRE OUT OF DEATH AND IT BURNS IN THE DRAUGHT OF THE BREATHING HOSTS KINDLES THE DARKENING PYRE FOR THE SORROWFUL TILL STRANGE BRANDS WAFT LIKE CANDID GHOSTS
phonemes: juː sˈɛnt mˌiː ɐ klˈoʊvən fˈaɪɚɹ ˌaʊɾəv dˈɛθ, ænd ɪt bˈɜːnz ɪnðə dɹˈæft ʌvðə bɹˈiːðɪŋ hˈoʊsts, kˈɪndəlz ðə dˈɑːɹkənɪŋ pˈaɪɚ fɚðə sˈɑːɹoʊfəl, tˈɪl stɹˈeɪndʒ bɹˈændz wˈæft lˈaɪk kˈændɪd ɡˈoʊsts.