text_original: that rustle of a dress, Stiff with lavish costliness! Here comes one whose cheek would flush But to have her garment brush 'Gainst the girl whose fingers thin Wove the weary broidery in, Bending backward from her toil, Lest her tears the silk might soil, And, in midnight's chill and murk, Stitched her life into the work, Shaping from her bitter thought Heart's ease and forget me not, Satirizing her despair With the emblems woven there.
text_transcription: THAT RUSTLE OF A DRESS STIFF WITH LAVISH COSTLINESS HERE COMES ONE WHOSE CHEEK WOULD FLUSH BUT TO HAVE HER GARMENT BRUSH AGAINST THE GIRL WHOSE FINGERS THIN WOVE THE WEARY BROIDERY IN BENDING BACKWARD FROM HER TOIL LEST HER TEARS TO SILK MIGHT SOIL AND IN MIDNIGHT'S CHILLEN MURK STITCHED HER LIFE INTO THE WORK SHAPING FROM HER BITTER THOUGHT HEART'S EASE AND FORGET ME NOT SATIRIZING HER DESPAIR WITH THE EMBLEMS WOVEN THERE
phonemes: ðæt ɹˈʌsəl əvə dɹˈɛs, stˈɪf wɪð lˈævɪʃ kˈɔstlinəs! hˈɪɹ kˈʌmz wˈʌn hˌuːz tʃˈiːk wʊd flˈʌʃ bˌʌt tə hæv hɜː ɡˈɑːɹmənt bɹˈʌʃ ɡˈeɪnst ðə ɡˈɜːl hˌuːz fˈɪŋɡɚz θˈɪn wˈoʊv ðə wˈɪɹi bɹˈɔɪdɚɹi ˈɪn, bˈɛndɪŋ bˈækwɚd fɹʌm hɜː tˈɔɪl, lˈɛst hɜː tˈɪɹz ðə sˈɪlk mˌaɪt sˈɔɪl, ænd, ɪn mˈɪdnaɪts tʃˈɪl ænd mˈɜːk, stˈɪtʃt hɜː lˈaɪf ˌɪntʊ ðə wˈɜːk, ʃˈeɪpɪŋ fɹʌm hɜː bˈɪɾɚ θˈɔːt hˈɑːɹts ˈiːz ænd fɚɡˈɛt mˌiː nˈɑːt, sˈæɾɪɹˌaɪzɪŋ hɜː dᵻspˈɛɹ wɪððɪ ˈɛmbləmz wˈoʊvən ðˈɛɹ.