text_original: III Through roses, rotting Within the garden,   With blooms, that harden, Of marigolds, knotting, (Each one an ember Dull, dead and dripping,) Her brow, from which their faded wreath is slipping, Mantled in frost and fog, comes in November.
text_transcription: THREE THROUGH ROSES ROTTING WITHIN THE GARDEN WITH BLOOMS THAT HARDEN OF MERRY GOLDS KNOTTING EACH ONE IN AMBER DULL DEAD AND DRIPPING HER BROW FROM WHICH THEIR FADED WREATHS IS SLIPPING MANTLED IN FROST AND FOG COMES IN NOVEMBER
phonemes: ɹˌoʊmən θɹˈiː θɹuː ɹˈoʊzᵻz, ɹˈɑːɾɪŋ wɪðˌɪn ðə ɡˈɑːɹdən,   wɪð blˈuːmz, ðæt hˈɑːɹdən, ʌv mˈæɹɪɡˌoʊldz, nˈɑːɾɪŋ, (ˈiːtʃ wˈʌn ɐn ˈɛmbɚ dˈʌl, dˈɛd ænd dɹˈɪpɪŋ,) hɜː bɹˈaʊ, fɹʌm wˈɪtʃ ðɛɹ fˈeɪdᵻd ɹˈiːθ ɪz slˈɪpɪŋ, mˈæntəld ɪn fɹˈɔst ænd fˈɑːɡ, kˈʌmz ɪn noʊvˈɛmbɚ.