text_original: "But you are not," Charles chuckled. "You are here, And never will know the sun again, my dear!" "Yea," whispered those whom no one had addressed; "With slow, sad march, amid a folk distressed, We were brought here, to take our dusty rest.
text_transcription: BUT YOU ARE NOT CHARLES CHUCKLED YOU ARE HERE AND NEVER WILL KNOW THE SUN AGAIN MY DEAR HERE WHISPERED THOSE WHOM NO ONE HAD ADDRESSED WITH SLOW SAD MARCH AMID THE FOLK DISTRESSED WE WERE BROUGHT HERE TO TAKE OUR DUSTY REST
phonemes: "bˌʌt juː ɑːɹ nˈɑːt," tʃˈɑːɹlz tʃˈʌkəld. "juː ɑːɹ hˈɪɹ, ænd nˈɛvɚ wɪl nˈoʊ ðə sˈʌn ɐɡˈɛn, maɪ dˈɪɹ!" "jˈeɪ," wˈɪspɚd ðoʊz hˈuːm nˈoʊwˈʌn hæd ɐdɹˈɛst; "wɪð slˈoʊ, sˈæd mˈɑːɹtʃ, ɐmˈɪd ɐ fˈoʊk dɪstɹˈɛst, wiː wɜː bɹˈɔːt hˈɪɹ, tə tˈeɪk ˌaʊɚ dˈʌsti ɹˈɛst.