text_original: High over the tree tops, in a widespread, trailing, noisy crew, there fly, with resounding cries, flocks of birds which seem to darken and overlay the very heavens. Then a strange feeling comes over one, until one seems to hear the voice of some one whispering: "Run, run, little child!
text_transcription: HIGH OVER THE TREE TOPS IN A WIDESPREAD TRAILING NOISY CREW THERE FLY WITH RESOUNDING CRIES FLOCKS OF BIRDS WHICH SEEM TO DARKEN AND OVERLAY THE VERY HEAVENS THEN A STRANGE FEELING COMES OVER ONE UNTIL ONE SEEMS TO HEAR THE VOICE OF SOME ONE WHISPERING RUN RUN LITTLE CHILD
phonemes: hˈaɪ ˌoʊvɚ ðə tɹˈiː tˈɑːps, ɪn ɐ wˈaɪdspɹɛd, tɹˈeɪlɪŋ, nˈɔɪzi kɹˈuː, ðɛɹ flˈaɪ, wɪð ɹᵻzˈaʊndɪŋ kɹˈaɪz, flˈɑːks ʌv bˈɜːdz wˌɪtʃ sˈiːm tə dˈɑːɹkən ænd ˌoʊvɚlˈeɪ ðə vˈɛɹi hˈɛvənz. ðˈɛn ɐ stɹˈeɪndʒ fˈiːlɪŋ kˈʌmz ˈoʊvɚ wˌʌn, ʌntˈɪl wˈʌn sˈiːmz tə hˈɪɹ ðə vˈɔɪs ʌv sˈʌmwʌn wˈɪspɚɹɪŋ: "ɹˈʌn, ɹˈʌn, lˈɪɾəl tʃˈaɪld!