text_original: Now all the world is red with doom, And Autumn, in her frost carved room, Bends darkly o'er the gipsy loom Of memories she weaves there; Who knocks at night upon the door, All travel worn and pale and poor?
text_transcription: NOW ALL THE WORLD IS RED WITH DOOM AND AUTUMN IN HER FROST CARVED ROOM BENDS DARKLY OVER THE GIPSY LOOM OF MEMORIES SHE WEAVES THERE WHO KNOCKS AT NIGHT UPON THE DOOR ALL TRAVEL WORN AND PALE AND POOR
phonemes: nˈaʊ ˈɔːl ðə wˈɜːld ɪz ɹˈɛd wɪð dˈuːm, ænd ˈɔːɾʌm, ɪn hɜː fɹˈɔst kˈɑːɹvd ɹˈuːm, bˈɛndz dˈɑːɹkli ˈɔːɹ ðə dʒˈɪpsi lˈuːm ʌv mˈɛmɚɹiz ʃiː wˈiːvz ðˈɛɹ; hˌuː nˈɑːks æt nˈaɪt əpˌɑːn ðə dˈɔːɹ, ˈɔːl tɹˈævəl wˈɔːɹn ænd pˈeɪl ænd pˈʊɹ?