text_original: Thy golden fortunes, tower they now, Or melt the glittering spires in air ? Who of this crowd to night shall tread The dance till daylight gleam again? Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead ? Who writhe in throes of mortal pain
text_transcription: THY GOLDEN FORTUNES TOWER THEY NOW O'ER MELT THE GLITTERING SPIRES IN AIR WHO OF THIS CROWD TO NIGHT SHALL TREAD THAT DANCE TILL DAYLIGHT GLEAM AGAIN WHOSE SORROW OVER THE UNTIMELY DEAD WHO WRITHE IN THROES OF MORTAL PAIN
phonemes: ðˌaɪ ɡˈoʊldən fˈɔːɹtʃʊnz, tˈaʊɚ ðeɪ nˈaʊ, ɔːɹ mˈɛlt ðə ɡlˈɪɾɚɹɪŋ spˈaɪɚz ɪn ˈɛɹ ? hˌuː ʌv ðɪs kɹˈaʊd tə nˈaɪt ʃˌæl tɹˈɛd ðə dˈæns tˈɪl dˈeɪlaɪt ɡlˈiːm ɐɡˈɛn? hˌuː sˈɑːɹoʊ ˈɔːɹ ðɪ ʌntˈaɪmli dˈɛd ? hˌuː ɹˈaɪð ɪn θɹˈoʊz ʌv mˈɔːɹɾəl pˈeɪn