text_original: Me, whom the city holds, whose feet Have worn its stony highways, Familiar with its loneliest street — Its ways were never my ways. My cradle was beside the sea, And there, I hope, my grave will be.
text_transcription: ME WHOM THE CITY HOLDS WHOSE FEET HAVE WORN ITS STONY HIGHWAYS FAMILIAR WITH ITS LONELIEST STREET ITS WAYS WERE NEVER MY WAYS MY CRADLE WAS BESIDE THE SEA AND THERE I HOPE MY GRAVE WILL BE
phonemes: mˈiː, hˈuːm ðə sˈɪɾi hˈoʊldz, hˌuːz fˈiːt hæv wˈɔːɹn ɪts stˈoʊni hˈaɪweɪz, fəmˈɪlɪɹ wɪð ɪts lˈoʊnliɪst stɹˈiːt — ɪts wˈeɪz wɜː nˈɛvɚ maɪ wˈeɪz. maɪ kɹˈeɪdəl wʌz bᵻsˌaɪd ðə sˈiː, ænd ðˈɛɹ, aɪ hˈoʊp, maɪ ɡɹˈeɪv wɪl bˈiː.