text_original: Whereat one cried, "Behold ! the sword of Death I Shall mortal face unfaltering the Wrath*?" And silence held our multitude. But she Passed on as to a thing of spectral breath, — A fantasy that was not nor could be.
text_transcription: WHEREAT ONE CRIED BEHOLD THE SWORD OF DEATH SHALL MORTAL FACE UNFALTERING THE WRATH AND SILENCE HELD OUR MULTITUDE BUT SHE PASSED ON AS TO A THING OF SPECTRAL BREATH A FANTASY THAT WAS NOT NOR COULD BE
phonemes: wˈɛɹæt wˈʌn kɹˈaɪd, "bᵻhˈoʊld ! ðə sˈɔːɹd ʌv dˈɛθ aɪʃˌɐl mˈɔːɹɾəl fˈeɪs ʌnfˈɔltɚɹɪŋ ðə ɹˈæθ ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk?" ænd sˈaɪləns hˈɛld ˌaʊɚ mˈʌltɪtˌuːd. bˌʌt ʃiː pˈæst ˌɔn æz tʊ ɐ θˈɪŋ ʌv spˈɛktɹəl bɹˈɛθ, — ɐ fˈæntəsi ðæt wʌz nˌɑːt nˈɔːɹ kʊd bˈiː.