text_original: And the wind o'er the hill side is moaning about, With a rustle and stir, and a low wailing tone That thrills through the heart with its whispering lone; And ponder its meaning, when haply you stray Where the halls of the stranger in ruin decay; With night owls for warders, the goshawk for guest, And their dais of honor by cattle hoof pressed.
text_transcription: AND THE WIND OVER THE HILL SIDE IS MOANING ABOUT WITH A RUSTLE AND STIR AND A LOW WAILING TONE THAT THRILLS THROUGH THE HEART WITH ITS WHISPERING LOAN AND PONDER ITS MEANING WHEN HAPLY YOU STRAY WHERE THE HALTS OF THE STRANGER IN RUIN DECAY WITH NIGHT OUT FOR WARDERS THE GOSHAWK FOR GUEST AND THEIR DAYS OF HONOR BY CATTLE HOOF PREST
phonemes: ænd ðə wˈɪnd ˈɔːɹ ðə hˈɪl sˈaɪd ɪz mˈoʊnɪŋ ɐbˈaʊt, wɪð ɐ ɹˈʌsəl ænd stˈɜː, ænd ɐ lˈoʊ wˈeɪlɪŋ tˈoʊn ðæt θɹˈɪlz θɹuː ðə hˈɑːɹt wɪð ɪts wˈɪspɚɹɪŋ lˈoʊn; ænd pˈɑːndɚɹ ɪts mˈiːnɪŋ, wˌɛn hˈæpli juː stɹˈeɪ wˌɛɹ ðə hˈɔːlz ʌvðə stɹˈeɪndʒɚɹ ɪn ɹˈuːɪn dᵻkˈeɪ; wɪð nˈaɪt ˈaʊlz fɔːɹ wˈɔːɹdɚz, ðə ɡˈɑːʃɔːk fɔːɹ ɡˈɛst, ænd ðɛɹ dˈeɪɪs ʌv ˈɑːnɚ baɪ kˈæɾəl hˈuːf pɹˈɛst.