text_original: And like a giant harp that hums On always, and is always blending The coming of what never comes With what has past and had an ending, The City trembles, throbs, and pounds Outside, and through a thousand sounds The small intolerable drums Of Time are like slow drops descending.
text_transcription: AND LIKE A GIANT HARP THAT HUMS ON ALWAYS AND IS ALWAYS BLENDING THE COMING OF WHAT NEVER COMES WITH WHAT HAS PASSED AND HAD AN ENDING THE CITY TREMBLES THROBS AND POUNDS OUTSIDE AND THROUGH A THOUSAND SOUNDS THE SMALL INTOLERABLE DRUMS OF TIME ARE LIKE SLOW DROPS DESCENDING
phonemes: ænd lˈaɪk ɐ dʒˈaɪənt hˈɑːɹp ðæt hˈʌmz ˌɔn ˈɔːlweɪz, ænd ɪz ˈɔːlweɪz blˈɛndɪŋ ðə kˈʌmɪŋ ʌv wʌt nˈɛvɚ kˈʌmz wɪð wʌt hɐz pˈæst ænd hæd ɐn ˈɛndɪŋ, ðə sˈɪɾi tɹˈɛmbəlz, θɹˈɑːbz, ænd pˈaʊndz aʊtsˈaɪd, ænd θɹuː ɐ θˈaʊzənd sˈaʊndz ðə smˈɔːl ɪntˈɑːlɚɹəbəl dɹˈʌmz ʌv tˈaɪm ɑːɹ lˈaɪk slˈoʊ dɹˈɑːps dᵻsˈɛndɪŋ.