text_original: Past her still resting place all day, With rush and flash and resonant roar, The tide of travel takes its way Along the bay indented shore. Shrill sounds the flying clamor, blent With softer surge of dim heard surf. Across the orchard closes sent To break upon her graving turf.
text_transcription: PAST HER STILL RESTING PLACE ALL DAY WITH RUSH AND FLASH AND RESONANT ROAR THE TIDE OF TRAVEL TAKES ITS WAY ALONG THE BAY INDENTED SHORE SHRILL SOUNDS THE FLYING CLAMOR BLENT WITH SOFTER SURGE OF DIM HEARD SURF ACROSS THE ORCHARD CLOSES SCENT TO BREAK UPON HER GRAVING TURF
phonemes: pˈæst hɜː stˈɪl ɹˈɛstɪŋ plˈeɪs ˈɔːl dˈeɪ, wɪð ɹˈʌʃ ænd flˈæʃ ænd ɹˈɛzənənt ɹˈɔːɹ, ðə tˈaɪd ʌv tɹˈævəl tˈeɪks ɪts wˈeɪ ɐlˈɔŋ ðə bˈeɪ ˌɪndˈɛntᵻd ʃˈɔːɹ. ʃɹˈɪl sˈaʊndz ðə flˈaɪɪŋ klˈæmɚ, blˈɛnt wɪð sˈɔftɚ sˈɜːdʒ ʌv dˈɪm hˈɜːd sˈɜːf. əkɹˌɑːs ðɪ ˈɔːɹtʃɚd klˈoʊzᵻz sˈɛnt tə bɹˈeɪk əpˌɑːn hɜː ɡɹˈeɪvɪŋ tˈɜːf.