text_original: Shrill sounds the flying clamor, blent With softer surge of dim heard surf. Across the orchard closes sent To break upon her graving turf. And hearts that loved her once speed fast, Idly intent on shore and skies, Nor turn to give a look or cast A thought toward her where she lies
text_transcription: SHRILL SOUNDS THE FLYING CLAMOR BLENT WITH SOFTER SURGE OF DIM HEARD SURF ACROSS THE ORCHARD CLOSES SCENT TO BREAK UPON HER GRAVING TURF AND HEARTS THAT LOVED HER ONCE SPEED FAST IDLY INTENT ON SHORE AND SKIES NOR TURN TO GIVE A LOOK OR CAST A THOUGHT TOWARD HER WHERE SHE LIES
phonemes: ʃɹˈɪl sˈaʊndz ðə flˈaɪɪŋ klˈæmɚ, blˈɛnt wɪð sˈɔftɚ sˈɜːdʒ ʌv dˈɪm hˈɜːd sˈɜːf. əkɹˌɑːs ðɪ ˈɔːɹtʃɚd klˈoʊzᵻz sˈɛnt tə bɹˈeɪk əpˌɑːn hɜː ɡɹˈeɪvɪŋ tˈɜːf. ænd hˈɑːɹts ðæt lˈʌvd hɜː wˈʌns spˈiːd fˈæst, ˈaɪdli ɪntˈɛnt ˌɔn ʃˈɔːɹ ænd skˈaɪz, nˈɔːɹ tˈɜːn tə ɡˈɪv ɐ lˈʊk ɔːɹ kˈæst ɐ θˈɔːt təwˈɔːɹd hɜː wˌɛɹ ʃiː lˈaɪz