text_original: We count the broken lyres that rest Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, But o'er their silent sister's breast The wild flowers who will stoop to number?
text_transcription: WE COUNT THE BROKEN LYRES THAT REST WHERE THE SWEET WAILING SINGERS SLUMBER BUT OVER THEIR SILENT SISTERS BREAST THE WILD FLOWERS WHO WILL STOOP TO NUMBER
phonemes: wiː kˈaʊnt ðə bɹˈoʊkən lˈaɪɚz ðæt ɹˈɛst wˌɛɹ ðə swˈiːt wˈeɪlɪŋ sˈɪŋɚz slˈʌmbɚ, bˌʌt ˈɔːɹ ðɛɹ sˈaɪlənt sˈɪstɚz bɹˈɛst ðə wˈaɪld flˈaʊɚz hˌuː wɪl stˈuːp tə nˈʌmbɚ?