text_original: Thou art a prophet, like to those of old, Who in the darkness sat, but firm and bold Looked with undaunted eyes towards the dim Horizon's rim, And thrilled with faith of waiting ages born, That soon from out the Night's strong prisonhold, Should burst the golden glory of the Morn.
text_transcription: THOU ART A PROPHET LIKE TO THOSE OF OLD WHO IN THE DARKNESS SAT BUT FIRM AND BOLD LOOKED WITH UNDAUNTED EYES TOWARDS THE DIM HORIZON'S RIM AND THRILLED WITH FAITH OF WAITING AGES BORN THAT SOON FROM OUT THE NIGHT'S STRONG PRISON HOLD SHOULD BURST THE GOLDEN GLORY OF THE MORN
phonemes: ðˈaʊ ˈɑːɹt ɐ pɹˈɑːfɪt, lˈaɪk tə ðoʊz ʌv ˈoʊld, hˌuː ɪnðə dˈɑːɹknəs sˈæt, bˌʌt fˈɜːm ænd bˈoʊld lˈʊkt wɪð ʌndˈɔːntᵻd ˈaɪz təwˈɔːɹdz ðə dˈɪm hɚɹˈaɪzənz ɹˈɪm, ænd θɹˈɪld wɪð fˈeɪθ ʌv wˈeɪɾɪŋ ˈeɪdʒᵻz bˈɔːɹn, ðæt sˈuːn fɹʌm ˈaʊt ðə nˈaɪts stɹˈɔŋ pɹˈɪzənhˌoʊld, ʃˌʊd bˈɜːst ðə ɡˈoʊldən ɡlˈɔːɹi ʌvðə mˈɔːɹn.