text_original: Noon, gilt but with glory of gold, would be hoary and grey In her eyes that had gazed on the depths, unamazed with the day. Night hardly would seem to make darker her dream never done, When it could but withhold what a man may behold of the sun.
text_transcription: NOON GILT BUT WITH GLORY OF GOLD WOULD BE HOARY AND GREY IN HER EYES THAT HAD GAZED ON THE DEPTH UNAMAZED WITH THE DAY NIGHT HARDLY WOULD SEEM TO MAKE DARKER HER DREAM NEVER DONE WHEN IT COULD BUT WITHHOLD WHAT A MAN MAY BEHOLD OF THE SUN
phonemes: nˈuːn, ɡˈɪlt bˌʌt wɪð ɡlˈɔːɹi ʌv ɡˈoʊld, wʊd biː hˈɔːɹi ænd ɡɹˈeɪ ɪn hɜːɹ ˈaɪz ðæt hæd ɡˈeɪzd ɔnðə dˈɛpθs, ʌnɐmˈeɪzd wɪððə dˈeɪ. nˈaɪt hˈɑːɹdli wʊd sˈiːm tə mˌeɪk dˈɑːɹkɚ hɜː dɹˈiːm nˈɛvɚ dˈʌn, wˌɛn ɪt kʊd bˌʌt wɪðhˈoʊld wʌt ɐ mˈæn mˈeɪ bᵻhˈoʊld ʌvðə sˈʌn.