text_original: Out of the whirling blinding moil, alone, Out of the slow grim fight, One thought to wing    to you, asleep, In some cool room that's open to the night Lying half forward, breathing quietly, One white hand on the white Unrumpled sheet, and the ever moving hair Quiet and still at length!
text_transcription: OUT OF THE WAILING BLINDING MOIL ALONE OUT OF THE SLOPEWOM FIGHT ONCE OUT TO WING TO YOU ASLEEP IN SOME COOL ROOM THAT'S OPEN TO THE NIGHT LYING HALF FORWARD BREEZING QUIETLY ONE WHITE HAND ON THE WHITE UNRUPPLED SHEET AND THE EVER MOVING HAIR QUIET AND STILL AT LENGTH
phonemes: ˌaʊɾəv ðə wˈɜːlɪŋ blˈaɪndɪŋ mˈɔɪl, ɐlˈoʊn, ˌaʊɾəv ðə slˈoʊ ɡɹˈɪm fˈaɪt, wˈʌn θˈɔːt tə wˈɪŋ tə juː, ɐslˈiːp, ɪn sˌʌm kˈuːl ɹˈuːm ðæts ˈoʊpən tə ðə nˈaɪt lˈaɪɪŋ hˈæf fˈɔːɹwɚd, bɹˈiːðɪŋ kwˈaɪətli, wˈʌn wˈaɪt hˈænd ɔnðə wˈaɪt ʌnɹˈʌmpəld ʃˈiːt, ænd ðɪ ˈɛvɚ mˈuːvɪŋ hˈɛɹ kwˈaɪət ænd stˈɪl æt lˈɛŋθ!