text_original: THE WORD IN THE WOOD I The acorn oak Sullens to sombre crimson all its leaves; And where it hugely heaves A giant head dark as congested blood, The gum tree towers, against the sky a stroke Of purpling gold; and every blur of wood Is color on the pallet that she drops, The Autumn, dreaming on the hazed hilltops.
text_transcription: THE WORD IN THE WOOD THE ACON OAK SILENCE TO SOMBRE CRIMSON ALL ITS LEAVES AND WHERE IT USUALLY HEAVES A GIANT HEAD DARK AS CONGESTED BLOOD THE GUM TREE TOWERS AGAINST THE SKY A STROKE OF PURPLING GOLD AND EVERY BLUR OFOD IS COLOR ON THE PALLET THAT SHE DROPS THE AUTUMN DREAMING ON THE HAZED HILL TOPS
phonemes: ðə wˈɜːd ɪnðə wˈʊd aɪ ðɪ ˈeɪkɔːɹn ˈoʊk sˈʌlənz tə sˈɑːmbɚ kɹˈɪmsən ˈɔːl ɪts lˈiːvz; ænd wˌɛɹ ɪt hjˈuːdʒli hˈiːvz ɐ dʒˈaɪənt hˈɛd dˈɑːɹk æz kəndʒˈɛstᵻd blˈʌd, ðə ɡˈʌm tɹˈiː tˈaʊɚz, ɐɡˈɛnst ðə skˈaɪ ɐ stɹˈoʊk ʌv pˈɜːplɪŋ ɡˈoʊld; ænd ˈɛvɹi blˈɜːɹ ʌv wˈʊd ɪz kˈʌlɚɹ ɔnðə pˈælɪt ðæt ʃiː dɹˈɑːps, ðɪ ˈɔːɾʌm, dɹˈiːmɪŋ ɔnðə hˈeɪzd hˈɪltɑːps.