text_original: There are shrines under these green hillocks to the beautiful gods that sleep, Where they prayed in the stormy season for lives gone out on the deep; And here in the grave street sculptured, old record of loves and tears, By the dust of the nameless slave, forgotten a thousand years.
text_transcription: THERE ARE SHRINES UNDER THESE GREEN HILLOCKS TO THE BEAUTIFUL GODS THAT SLEEP WHERE THEY PRAYED IN THE STORMY SEASON FOR LIVES GONE OUT ON THE DEEP AND HERE IN THE GRAVE STREETS SCULPTURED OLD RECORDS OF LOVES AND TEARS BY THE DUST OF THEIR NAMELESS SLAVE FORGOTTEN A THOUSAND YEARS
phonemes: ðɛɹˌɑːɹ ʃɹˈaɪnz ˌʌndɚ ðiːz ɡɹˈiːn hˈɪləks tə ðə bjˈuːɾifəl ɡˈɑːdz ðæt slˈiːp, wˌɛɹ ðeɪ pɹˈeɪd ɪnðə stˈɔːɹmi sˈiːzən fɔːɹ lˈaɪvz ɡɔn ˈaʊt ɔnðə dˈiːp; ænd hˈɪɹ ɪnðə ɡɹˈeɪv stɹˈiːt skˈʌlptʃɚd, ˈoʊld ɹˈɛkɚd ʌv lˈʌvz ænd tˈɪɹz, baɪ ðə dˈʌst ʌvðə nˈeɪmləs slˈeɪv, fɚɡˈɑːʔn̩ ɐ θˈaʊzənd jˈɪɹz.