text_original: Dead, broken, lustreless! It keeps for me One picture of that immemorial land, For oft as I have held thee in my hand The dull bronze brightens, and I dream to see A fair face gazing in thee wondering wise, And o'er one marble shoulder all the while Strange lips that whisper till her own lips smile, And all the mirror laughs about her eyes.
text_transcription: DEAD BROKEN LUSTRELESS IT KEEPS FOR ME ONE PICTURE OF THAT IMMEMORIAL LAND FOR OFT AS I HAVE HELD THEE IN MY HAND THE DULL BRONZE BRIGHTENS AND I DREAM TO SEE A FAIR FACE GAZING IN THEE WONDERING WISE AND OVER ONE MARBLE SHOULDER ALL THE WHILE STRANGE LIPS THAT WHISPER TILL HER OWN LIPS SMILE AND ALL THE MIRROR LAUGHS ABOUT HER EYES
phonemes: dˈɛd, bɹˈoʊkən, lˈʌstɚləs! ɪt kˈiːps fɔːɹ mˌiː wˈʌn pˈɪktʃɚɹ ʌv ðæt ˌɪmɪmˈɔːɹɪəl lˈænd, fɔːɹ ˈɔft æz aɪ hæv hˈɛld ðiː ɪn maɪ hˈænd ðə dˈʌl bɹˈɑːnz bɹˈaɪʔn̩z, ænd aɪ dɹˈiːm tə sˈiː ɐ fˈɛɹ fˈeɪs ɡˈeɪzɪŋ ɪn ðiː wˈʌndɚɹɪŋ wˈaɪz, ænd ˈɔːɹ wˈʌn mˈɑːɹbəl ʃˈoʊldɚɹ ˈɔːl ðə wˈaɪl stɹˈeɪndʒ lˈɪps ðæt wˈɪspɚ tˈɪl hɜːɹ ˈoʊn lˈɪps smˈaɪl, ænd ˈɔːl ðə mˈɪɹɚ lˈæfs ɐbˌaʊt hɜːɹ ˈaɪz.