text_original: * * * * * ATALANTA Wait not along the shore, they will not come; The suns go down beyond the windy seas, Those weary sails shall never wing them home O'er this white foam; No voice from these On any landward wind that dies among the trees.
text_transcription: ORK BY SONYA ATALANTA WAIT NOT ALONG THE SHORE THEY WILL NOT COME THE SUNS GO DOWN BEYOND THE WINDY SEAS THOSE WEARY SAILS SHALL NEVER WING THEM HOME OVER THIS WHITE FOAM NO VOICE FROM THESE ON ANY LANDWARD WIND THAT DIES AMONG THE TREES
phonemes: ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk ˌæɾɐlˈæntə wˈeɪt nˌɑːt ɐlˈɔŋ ðə ʃˈɔːɹ, ðeɪ wɪl nˌɑːt kˈʌm; ðə sˈʌnz ɡˌoʊ dˌaʊn bᵻjˌɔnd ðə wˈɪndi sˈiːz, ðoʊz wˈɪɹi sˈeɪlz ʃˌæl nˈɛvɚ wˈɪŋ ðˌɛm hˈoʊm ˈɔːɹ ðɪs wˈaɪt fˈoʊm; nˈoʊ vˈɔɪs fɹʌm ðiːz ˌɔn ˌɛni lˈændwɚd wˈɪnd ðæt dˈaɪz ɐmˌʌŋ ðə tɹˈiːz.