text_original: The vapors brooded on the land, Too big to sink, too foul to float, Upcast like poison from the throat Of one great chimney near at hand. The factory about its base Droned to the darkness, hour on hour  Squat dungeons, huddled at its tow r, As fearful of the night s dim face.
text_transcription: THE VAPORS BROODED ON THE LAND TOO BIG TO SINK TOO FOUL TO FLOAT UPCAST LIKE POISON FROM THE THROAT OF ONE GREAT CHIMNEY NEAR AT HAND THE FACTORY ABOUT ITS BASE DRONE TO THE DARKNESS HOUR ON HOUR SQUAT DUNGEONS HUDDLED AT ITS TOWER AS FEARFUL OF THE NIGHT'S DIM FACE
phonemes: ðə vˈeɪpɚz bɹˈuːdᵻd ɔnðə lˈænd, tˈuː bˈɪɡ tə sˈɪŋk, tˈuː fˈaʊl tə flˈoʊt, ʌpkˈæst lˈaɪk pˈɔɪzən fɹʌmðə θɹˈoʊt ʌv wˈʌn ɡɹˈeɪt tʃˈɪmni nˌɪɹ æt hˈænd. ðə fˈæktɚɹi ɐbˌaʊt ɪts bˈeɪs dɹˈoʊnd tə ðə dˈɑːɹknəs, ˈaʊɚɹ ˌɔn ˈaʊɚ skwˈɑːt dˈʌndʒənz, hˈʌdəld æɾ ɪts tˈoʊ ˈɑːɹ, æz fˈɪɹfəl ʌvðə nˈaɪt ˈɛs dˈɪm fˈeɪs.