text_original: The speakers, sundry phantoms of the gone, Had risen like filmy flames of phosphor dye, As if the palest of sheet lightnings shone From the sward near me, as from a nether sky. And much surprised was I that, spent and dead, They should not, like the many, be at rest, But stray as apparitions; hence I said, "Why, having slipped life, hark you back distressed?
text_transcription: THE SPEAKERS SUNDRY PHANTOMS OF THE GONE HAD RISEN LIKE FILMY FLAMES OF PHOSPHOD DYE AS IF THE PALEST OF SHEET LIGHTNINGS SHONE FROM THE SWORD NEAR ME AS FROM ANOTHER SKY AND MUCH SURPRISED WAS I THAT SPENT AND DEAD THEY SHOULD NOT LIKE THE MANY BE AT REST BUT STRAY AS APPARITIONS HENCE I SAID WHY HAVING SLIPPED LIFE HARK YOU BACK DISTREST
phonemes: ðə spˈiːkɚz, sˈʌndɹi fˈæntəmz ʌvðə ɡˈɔn, hæd ɹˈɪzən lˈaɪk fˈɪlmi flˈeɪmz ʌv fˈɑːsfɚ dˈaɪ, æz ɪf ðə pˈeɪlɪst ʌv ʃˈiːt lˈaɪtnɪŋz ʃˈɑːn fɹʌmðə swˈɔːɹd nˈɪɹ mˌiː, æz fɹʌm ɐ nˈɛðɚ skˈaɪ. ænd mˈʌtʃ sɚpɹˈaɪzd wʌz aɪ ðˈæt, spˈɛnt ænd dˈɛd, ðeɪ ʃˌʊd nˈɑːt, lˈaɪk ðə mˈɛni, biː æt ɹˈɛst, bˌʌt stɹˈeɪ æz ˌæpɚɹˈɪʃənz; hˈɛns aɪ sˈɛd, "wˈaɪ, hˌævɪŋ slˈɪpt lˈaɪf, hˈɑːɹk juː bˈæk dɪstɹˈɛst?