text_original: You tell our doubts in twilight strain; Untouched by man's perennial pain, You give some echo of his grief; Or so we dream. The very wind Serves at the soul's aeolian chords; Rulers dismayed, uncertain lords, In all we find, ourselves we find.
text_transcription: YOU TELL OUR DOUBTS IN TWILIGHT STRAIN UNTOUCHED BY MAN'S PERENNIAL PAIN YOU GIVE SOME ECHO OF HIS GRIEF OR SO WE DREAM THE VERY WIND SERVES AT THE SOLE THE EOLIAN COURTS RULERS DISMAYED UNCERTAIN LORDS IN ALL WE FIND OURSELVES WE FIN
phonemes: juː tˈɛl ˌaʊɚ dˈaʊts ɪn twˈaɪlaɪt stɹˈeɪn; ʌntˈʌtʃt baɪ mˈænz pəɹˈɛnɪəl pˈeɪn, juː ɡˈɪv sˌʌm ˈɛkoʊ ʌv hɪz ɡɹˈiːf; ɔːɹ sˌoʊ wiː dɹˈiːm. ðə vˈɛɹi wˈɪnd sˈɜːvz æt ðə sˈoʊlz iːˈoʊliən kˈɔːɹdz; ɹˈuːlɚz dɪsmˈeɪd, ʌnsˈɜːʔn̩ lˈɔːɹdz, ɪn ˈɔːl wiː fˈaɪnd, aʊɚsˈɛlvz wiː fˈaɪnd.