text_original: Among her dying asters stands the Fall, Like some lone woman in a ruined hall, Dreaming of desolation and the shroud; Or through decaying woodlands goes, down bowed, Hugging the tatters of her gipsy shawl.
text_transcription: AMONG HER DYING ESTHER STANDS THE FALL LIKE SOME LONE WOMAN IN A RUINED HALL DREAMING OF DESOLATION AND THE SHROUD OR THROUGH DECAYING WOODLANDS GOES DOWN BOWED HUGGING THE TATTERS OF HER GIPSY SHAWL
phonemes: ɐmˌʌŋ hɜː dˈaɪɪŋ ˈæstɚz stˈændz ðə fˈɔːl, lˈaɪk sˌʌm lˈoʊn wˈʊmən ɪn ɐ ɹˈuːɪnd hˈɔːl, dɹˈiːmɪŋ ʌv dˌɛsəlˈeɪʃən ænd ðə ʃɹˈaʊd; ɔːɹ θɹuː dᵻkˈeɪɪŋ wˈʊdləndz ɡˈoʊz, dˌaʊn bˈaʊd, hˈʌɡɪŋ ðə tˈæɾɚz ʌv hɜː dʒˈɪpsi ʃˈɔːl.