text_original: _' YE pilgrims, who with pensive aspect go Thinking, perhaps, of bygone things and dear, Come you from lands so very far from here As unto us who watch your port would show? For that you weep not outright, filing slow Thro' the mid highway of this city drear, You even as gentle stranger folk appear, Who of the common sorrow nothing know!
text_transcription: HE PILGRIMS WHO WITH PENSIVE ASPECT GO THINKING PERHAPS OF BYGONE THINGS AND DEAR COME YOU FROM LAND SO FAR FROM HERE AS UNTO US WHO WATCH YOUR PORT WOULD SHOW FOR THAT YOU WEEP NOT OUTRIGHT FILING SLOW THROUGH THE MID HIGHWAY OF THIS CITY DREAR YOU EVEN AS GENTLE STRANGER FOLK APPEAR WHO OF THE COMMON SORROW NOTHING KNOW
phonemes: jiː pˈɪlɡɹɪmz, hˌuː wɪð pˈɛnsɪv ˈæspɛkt ɡˌoʊ θˈɪŋkɪŋ, pɚhˈæps, ʌv bˈaɪɡɑːn θˈɪŋz ænd dˈɪɹ, kˈʌm juː fɹʌm lˈændz sˌoʊ vˈɛɹi fˈɑːɹ fɹʌm hˈɪɹ æz ˌʌntʊ ˌʌs hˌuː wˈɑːtʃ jʊɹ pˈɔːɹt wʊd ʃˈoʊ? fɔːɹ ðæt juː wˈiːp nˌɑːt aʊtɹˈaɪt, fˈaɪlɪŋ slˈoʊ θɹˈoʊ ðə mˈɪd hˈaɪweɪ ʌv ðɪs sˈɪɾi dɹˈɪɹ, juː ˈiːvən æz dʒˈɛntəl stɹˈeɪndʒɚ fˈoʊk ɐpˈɪɹ, hˌuː ʌvðə kˈɑːmən sˈɑːɹoʊ nˈʌθɪŋ nˈoʊ!