text_original: " I was not wicked ; they have told God lies To make him send me here," she moaned in pain, Then suddenly her wan, reproachful eyes, Raised to the Pity never sought in vain, Beheld a hovering shape in aureoled guise.
text_transcription: I WAS NOT WICKED THEY HAVE TOLD GOD LIES TO MAKE HIM SEND ME HERE SHE MOANED IN PAIN THEN SUDDENLY HER WAN REPROACHFUL EYES RAISED TO THE PITY NEVER SOUGHT IN VAIN BEHELD A HOVERING SHAPE IN AUREOLIC GUISE
phonemes: " aɪ wʌz nˌɑːt wˈɪkᵻd ; ðeɪ hæv tˈoʊld ɡˈɑːd lˈaɪz tə mˌeɪk hˌɪm sˈɛnd mˌiː hˈɪɹ," ʃiː mˈoʊnd ɪn pˈeɪn, ðˈɛn sˈʌdənli hɜː wˈæn, ɹᵻpɹˈoʊtʃfəl ˈaɪz, ɹˈeɪzd tə ðə pˈɪɾi nˈɛvɚ sˈɔːt ɪn vˈeɪn, bᵻhˈɛld ɐ hˈʌvɚɹɪŋ ʃˈeɪp ɪn ˈɔːɹɪˌoʊld ɡˈaɪz.