text_original: The steel roped plough now rips the vale, With cog and tooth the sheaves are won, Wired wheels drum out the wheat like hail; But if we ask, what has been done To unify the mortal lot Since your bright leaves first saw the sun, Beyond mechanic furtherance—what Advance can rightness, candour, claim? Truth bends abashed, and answers not.
text_transcription: THE STEEL ROPED PLOUGH NOW RIPS THE VEIL WITH COG AND TOOTH THE SHEAVES ARE WORN WILD WHEELS DRUM OUT THE WHEAT LIKE HAIL BUT IF WE ASK WHAT HAS BEEN DONE TO UNIFY THE MORTAL LOT SINCE YOUR BRIGHT LEAVES FIRST SAW THE SUN BEYOND MECHANIC FURTHER ENDS WHAT ADVANCE CAN RIGHTNESS CANDOUR CLAIM TRUTH BENDS ABASHED AND ANSWERS NOT
phonemes: ðə stˈiːl ɹˈoʊpt plˈaʊ nˈaʊ ɹˈɪps ðə vˈeɪl, wɪð kˈɑːɡ ænd tˈuːθ ðə ʃˈiːvz ɑːɹ wˈʌn, wˈaɪɚd wˈiːlz dɹˈʌm ˈaʊt ðə wˈiːt lˈaɪk hˈeɪl; bˌʌt ɪf wiː ˈæsk, wˌʌt hˈæzbiːn dˈʌn tə jˈuːnɪfˌaɪ ðə mˈɔːɹɾəl lˈɑːt sˈɪns jʊɹ bɹˈaɪt lˈiːvz fˈɜːst sˈɔː ðə sˈʌn, bᵻjˌɔnd mᵻkˈænɪk fˈɜːθɜːɹəns—wˌʌt ɐdvˈæns kæn ɹˈaɪtnəs, kˈændɚ, klˈeɪm? tɹˈuːθ bˈɛndz ɐbˈæʃt, ænd ˈænsɚz nˈɑːt.