text_original: It chanst in the summer one night When the bog, that does still be so black, was all over a dazzle of white With the foam blowin' in from the sea, an' the clouds streelin' down from the skies An' the moon lookin' on, like myself, the poor soul, with the tears in her eyes.
text_transcription: IT CHANCED IN THE SUMMER ONE NIGHT WHEN THE BOG THAT DOES STILL BE SO BLACK WAS ALL OVER A DAZZLE OF WHITE WITH THE FOAM BLOWING IN FROM THE SEA AND THE CLOUDS STREALING DOWN FROM THE SKIES AND THE MOON LOOKED NONE MYSELF THE POOR SOUL WITH THE TEARS IN HER EYES
phonemes: ɪt tʃˈænst ɪnðə sˈʌmɚ wˈʌn nˈaɪt wɛn ðə bˈɑːɡ, ðæt dˈʌz stˈɪl biː sˌoʊ blˈæk, wʌz ˈɔːl ˌoʊvɚɹ ɐ dˈæzəl ʌv wˈaɪt wɪððə fˈoʊm blˈoʊɪn ɪn fɹʌmðə sˈiː, æn ðə klˈaʊdz stɹˈiːlɪn dˌaʊn fɹʌmðə skˈaɪz æn ðə mˈuːn lˈʊkɪn ˈɔn, lˈaɪk maɪsˈɛlf, ðə pˈʊɹ sˈoʊl, wɪððə tˈɪɹz ɪn hɜːɹ ˈaɪz.