text_original: of some bold chanticleer. (Half in my sleep I hear that clarion ring, With distant calls, like echoes, answering; And, as at war's alarum, soldiers leap From guarded sleep And seize their arms, and hasten from their tents, So, at this sound, my drowsy senses spring, Alert to man the mind's dark battlements.)
text_transcription: OF SOME BOLD CHANTICLEER HALF IN MY SLEEP I HEAR THAT CLARION RING WITH DISTANT CALLS LIKE ECHOES ANSWERING AND AS AT WAR'S ALARUM SOLDIERS LEAP FROM GUARDED SLEEP AND SEIZE THEIR ARMS AND HASTEN FROM THEIR TENTS SO AT THIS SOUND MY DROWSY SENSES SPRING ALERT TO MAN THE MIND'S DARK BATTLEMENTS
phonemes: ʌv sˌʌm bˈoʊld tʃˌæntɪklˈɪɹ. (hˈæf ɪn maɪ slˈiːp aɪ hˈɪɹ ðæt klˈæɹiən ɹˈɪŋ, wɪð dˈɪstənt kˈɔːlz, lˈaɪk ˈɛkoʊz, ˈænsɚɹɪŋ; ænd, æz æt wˈɔːɹz ɐlˈɑːɹɹəm, sˈoʊldʒɚz lˈiːp fɹʌm ɡˈɑːɹdᵻd slˈiːp ænd sˈiːz ðɛɹ ˈɑːɹmz, ænd hˈeɪsən fɹʌm ðɛɹ tˈɛnts, sˈoʊ, æt ðɪs sˈaʊnd, maɪ dɹˈaʊsi sˈɛnsᵻz spɹˈɪŋ, ɐlˈɜːt tə mˈæn ðə mˈaɪndz dˈɑːɹk bˈæɾəlmənts.)