text_original: And we turn as the glory dims on The hay field's mounded math. Thro' the soft and silent twilight We come, to the stile at last, As the clear undying eyelight Of the stars tells day is past.
text_transcription: AND WE TURN AS THE GLORY DIMS ON THE HAY FIELD'S MOUNTED MATH THROUGH THE SOFT AND SILENT TWILIGHT WE COME TO THE STYLE AT LAST AS THE CLEAR UNDYING EYE LIGHT OF THE STARS TELLS DAYS PAST
phonemes: ænd wiː tˈɜːn æz ðə ɡlˈɔːɹi dˈɪmz ɔnðə hˈeɪ fˈiːldz mˈaʊndᵻd mˈæθ. θɹˈoʊ ðə sˈɔft ænd sˈaɪlənt twˈaɪlaɪt wiː kˈʌm, tə ðə stˈaɪl æt lˈæst, æz ðə klˈɪɹ ʌndˈaɪɪŋ ˈaɪlaɪt ʌvðə stˈɑːɹz tˈɛlz dˈeɪ ɪz pˈæst.