text_original: Slow the Poet raised his eyes, Sad were they as winter skies, "Once, I sojourned there," he said; Then, no more  but with bent head Whispered low, "Ask not of me That lost road to Arcady!"
text_transcription: SLOW THE POET RAISED HIS EYES SAD WERE THEY AS WINTER SKIES ONCE I SOJOURNED THERE HE SAID THEN NO MORE BUT WITH BENT HEAD WHISPERED LOW ASK NOT OF ME THAT LOST ROAD TO ARCADE
phonemes: slˈoʊ ðə pˈoʊɪt ɹˈeɪzd hɪz ˈaɪz, sˈæd wɜː ðeɪ æz wˈɪntɚ skˈaɪz, "wˈʌns, aɪ sˈoʊdʒɜːnd ðˈɛɹ," hiː sˈɛd; ðˈɛn, nˈoʊmˌɔːɹ bˌʌt wɪð bˈɛnt hˈɛd wˈɪspɚd lˈoʊ, "ˈæsk nˌɑːt ʌv mˌiː ðæt lˈɔst ɹˈoʊd tʊ ˈɑːɹkædi!"