text_original: Mimes, in the form of God on high,Mutter and mumble low,And hither and thither fly—Mere puppets they, who come and goAt bidding of vast formless thingsThat shift the scenery to and fro,Flapping from out their Condor wingsInvisible Woe!That motley drama—oh, be sureIt shall not be forgot!
text_transcription: MIMES IN THE FORM OF GOD ON HIGH MUTTER AND MUMBLE LOW AND HITHER AND THITHER FLY MERE PUPPETS THEY WHO COME AND GO AT BIDDING OF VAST FORMLESS THINGS THAT SHIFT THE SCENERY TO AND FRO FLAPPING FROM OUT THEIR CONDOR WINGS INVISIBLE WOE THAT MOTLEY DRAMA OH BE SURE IT SHALL NOT BE FORGOT
phonemes: mˈaɪmz, ɪnðə fˈɔːɹm ʌv ɡˈɑːd ˌɔn hˈaɪ,mˈʌɾɚɹ ænd mˈʌmbəl lˈoʊ,ænd hˈɪðɚ ænd ðˈɪðɚ flˈaɪ—mˈɪɹ pˈʌpɪts ðeɪ, hˌuː kˈʌm ænd ɡˌoʊ æt bˈɪdɪŋ ʌv vˈæst fˈɔːɹmləs θˈɪŋz ðæt ʃˈɪft ðə sˈiːnɚɹi tˌuːəndfɹˈoʊ,flˈæpɪŋ fɹʌm ˈaʊt ðɛɹ kˈɑːndɔːɹ wˈɪŋz ɪnvˈɪzᵻbəl wˈoʊ!ðæt mˈɑːtli dɹˈɑːmə—ˈoʊ, biː ʃˈʊɹ ɪt ʃˌæl nˌɑːt biː fɚɡˈɑːt!