text_original: Indian Summer I HAVE strayed from silent places, Where the days are dreaming always; And fair summer lies a dying, Roses withered on her breast.
text_transcription: INDIAN SUMMER I HAVE STRAYED FROM SILENT PLACES WHERE THE DAYS ARE DREAMING ALWAYS AND FAIR SUMMER LIES A DYING ROSES WITHERED ON HER BREAST
phonemes: ˈɪndiən sˈʌmɚɹ aɪ hæv stɹˈeɪd fɹʌm sˈaɪlənt plˈeɪsᵻz, wˌɛɹ ðə dˈeɪz ɑːɹ dɹˈiːmɪŋ ˈɔːlweɪz; ænd fˈɛɹ sˈʌmɚ lˈaɪz ɐ dˈaɪɪŋ, ɹˈoʊzᵻz wˈɪðɚd ˌɔn hɜː bɹˈɛst.