text_original: Beside the gilded harp she stood, And through the singing strings Wound those wan hands of folded prayer In murmurous preludings. Then, like a voice, the harp rang high Its melody, as climb the sky, Melting against the melting blue, Some bird's vibrating wings.
text_transcription: BESIDE THE GILDED HARP SHE STOOD AND THROUGH THE SINGING STRINGS WOUND THOSE WAN HANDS OF FOLDED PRAYER IN MURMUROUS PRELUDINGS THEN LIKE A VOICE THE HARP RANG HIGH ITS MELODY AS CLIMBED THE SKY MELTING AGAINST THE MELTING BLUE SOME BIRD'S VIBRATING WINGS
phonemes: bᵻsˌaɪd ðə ɡˈɪldᵻd hˈɑːɹp ʃiː stˈʊd, ænd θɹuː ðə sˈɪŋɪŋ stɹˈɪŋz wˈuːnd ðoʊz wˈæn hˈændz ʌv fˈoʊldᵻd pɹˈɛɹ ɪn mˈɜːmɚɹəs pɹˈeɪluːdɪŋz. ðˈɛn, lˈaɪk ɐ vˈɔɪs, ðə hˈɑːɹp ɹˈæŋ hˈaɪ ɪts mˈɛlədi, æz klˈaɪm ðə skˈaɪ, mˈɛltɪŋ ɐɡˈɛnst ðə mˈɛltɪŋ blˈuː, sˌʌm bˈɜːdz vˈaɪbɹeɪɾɪŋ wˈɪŋz.