text_original: Something is stealing like light from my breast   Soul from its husk ... Soft!... Where the dead feel the buried dead, Where the high hermit bell hourly tolls, Bury me, near to the haunting tread Of life that o'errolls.
text_transcription: SOMETHING IS STEALING LIKE LIGHT FROM MY BREAST SOUL FROM ITS HUSK SOFT WHERE THE DEAD FEEL THE BURIED DEAD WHERE THE HIGH HERMIT BELL HOURLY TOLLS BURY ME NEAR TO THE HAUNTING TREAD OF LIFE THAT OVERROLLS
phonemes: sˈʌmθɪŋ ɪz stˈiːlɪŋ lˈaɪk lˈaɪt fɹʌm maɪ bɹˈɛst sˈoʊl fɹʌm ɪts hˈʌsk ... sˈɔft!... wˌɛɹ ðə dˈɛd fˈiːl ðə bˈɛɹid dˈɛd, wˌɛɹ ðə hˈaɪ hˈɜːmɪt bˈɛl ˈaʊɚli tˈoʊlz, bˈɛɹi mˌiː, nˌɪɹ tə ðə hˈɔːntɪŋ tɹˈɛd ʌv lˈaɪf ðæt ˈɔːɹoʊlz.