text_original: Our cheeks were pale, the blood upon our hands Crumbled to purple dust, our tired eyes Held visions of our pleasant meadow lands Leaping to day beneath the Kentish skies. * 37 THE PIRATE SHIP No new wind soothed strained brow and bitten lip, The morning lay upon us for a shroud, While o'er the sea, the ember of a ship Breathing thin smoke, passed landwards like a cloud.
text_transcription: OUR CHEEKS WERE PALE THE BLOOD UPON OUR HANDS CRUMBLED TO PURPLE DUST OUR TIRED EYES HELD VISIONS OF OUR PLEASANT MEADOW LANDS LEAPING TO DAY BENEATH THE KENTISH SKIES NO NEW WIND SOOTHED STRAINED BROW AND BITTEN LIP THE MORNING LAY UPON US FOR A SHROUD WHILE OVER THE SEA THE EMBER OF A SHIP BREATHING THIN SMOKE PASSED LANDWARDS LIKE A CLOUD
phonemes: ˌaʊɚ tʃˈiːks wɜː pˈeɪl, ðə blˈʌd əpˌɑːn ˌaʊɚ hˈændz kɹˈʌmbəld tə pˈɜːpəl dˈʌst, ˌaʊɚ tˈaɪɚd ˈaɪz hˈɛld vˈɪʒənz ʌv ˌaʊɚ plˈɛzənt mˈɛdoʊ lˈændz lˈiːpɪŋ tə dˈeɪ bᵻnˌiːθ ðə kˈɛntɪʃ skˈaɪz. ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk θˈɜːɾi sˈɛvən ðə pˈaɪɹət ʃˈɪp nˈoʊ nˈuː wˈɪnd sˈuːðd stɹˈeɪnd bɹˈaʊ ænd bˈɪʔn̩ lˈɪp, ðə mˈɔːɹnɪŋ lˈeɪ əpˌɑːn ˌʌs fɚɹə ʃɹˈaʊd, wˌaɪl ˈɔːɹ ðə sˈiː, ðɪ ˈɛmbɚɹ əvə ʃˈɪp bɹˈiːðɪŋ θˈɪn smˈoʊk, pˈæst lˈændwɚdz lˈaɪk ɐ klˈaʊd.