text_original: And while this rose made round her cup, The armies died convulsed. And when This chaste young silver sun went up Softly, a thousand shattered men, One wet corruption, heaped the plain, After a league long throb of pain.
text_transcription: AND WHILE THIS ROSE MADE ROUND HER CUP THE ARMIES DIED CONVULSED AND WHEN THIS CHASTE YOUNG SILVER SUN WENT UP SOFTLY A THOUSAND SHATTERED MEN ONE WET CORRUPTION HEAPED THE PLAIN AFTER A LEAGUE LONG THROB OF PAIN
phonemes: ænd wˌaɪl ðɪs ɹˈoʊz mˌeɪd ɹˈaʊnd hɜː kˈʌp, ðɪ ˈɑːɹmiz dˈaɪd kənvˈʌlst. ænd wɛn ðɪs tʃˈeɪst jˈʌŋ sˈɪlvɚ sˈʌn wɛnt ˌʌp sˈɔftli, ɐ θˈaʊzənd ʃˈæɾɚd mˈɛn, wˈʌn wˈɛt kɚɹˈʌpʃən, hˈiːpt ðə plˈeɪn, ˈæftɚɹ ɐ lˈiːɡ lˈɔŋ θɹˈɑːb ʌv pˈeɪn.