text_original: So seeming far the confines and the crowd, The gross routine, the cares that vex and tire, From this large light, sad thoughts in it, high driven, Go happier than the inly moving cloud That lets her vesture fall, a floss of fire, Abstracted, on the ivory hills of heaven.
text_transcription: SO SEEMING FAR THE CONFINES AND THE CROWD THE GROSS ROUTINE THE CHAOS THAT VEX AND TYRE FROM THIS LARGE LIGHT SAD THOUGHTS IN IT HIGH DRIVEN GO HAPPIER THAN THE INLY MOVING CLOUD THAT LET SERVESTIA FALL A FLOSS OF FIRE ABSTRACTED ON THE IVORY HILLS OF HEAVEN
phonemes: sˌoʊ sˈiːmɪŋ fˈɑːɹ ðə kənfˈaɪnz ænd ðə kɹˈaʊd, ðə ɡɹˈoʊs ɹuːtˈiːn, ðə kˈɛɹz ðæt vˈɛks ænd tˈaɪɚ, fɹʌm ðɪs lˈɑːɹdʒ lˈaɪt, sˈæd θˈɔːts ɪn ɪt, hˈaɪ dɹˈɪvən, ɡˌoʊ hˈæpɪɚ ðɐn ðɪ ˈɪnli mˈuːvɪŋ klˈaʊd ðæt lˈɛts hɜː vˈɛstʃɚ fˈɔːl, ɐ flˈɔs ʌv fˈaɪɚ, ɐbstɹˈæktᵻd, ɔnðɪ ˈaɪvɚɹi hˈɪlz ʌv hˈɛvən.