text_original: _ Will there be ideals still to follow, And truths, like nymphs my pursuit to flee, Or will the ancient faith prove hollow? _Timor mortis conturbat me.
text_transcription: WILL THERE BE IDEALS STILL TO FOLLOW AND TRUTH LIKE NYMPHS MY PURSUIT TO FLEE OR WILL THE ANCIENT FAITH PROVE HOLLOW TIMO MORTIS CONTOR BUT ME
phonemes: wɪl ðɛɹbˈiː aɪdˈiəlz stˈɪl tə fˈɑːloʊ, ænd tɹˈuːθs, lˈaɪk nˈɪmfz maɪ pɚsˈuːt tə flˈiː, ɔːɹ wɪl ðɪ ˈeɪntʃənt fˈeɪθ pɹˈuːv hˈɑːloʊ? tˈiːmɔːɹ mˈɔːɹɾiz kəntˈɜːbæt mˌiː.