text_original: At last I hear him, nearing dawn, Take up his roaring broom, And sweep wild leaves from wood and lawn, And from the heavens the gloom, To show the gaunt world lying wan, And morn's cold rose a bloom.
text_transcription: AT LAST I HEAR HIM NEARING DAWN TAKE UP HIS ROARING BROOM AND SWEEP WILD LEAVES FROM WOOD AND LAWN AND FROM THE HEAVENS THE GLOOM TO SHOW THE GAUNT WORD LYING WAN AND MORN'S COLD ROSE ABLOOM
phonemes: æt lˈæst aɪ hˈɪɹ hˌɪm, nˌɪɹɪŋ dˈɔːn, tˈeɪk ˌʌp hɪz ɹˈɔːɹɪŋ bɹˈuːm, ænd swˈiːp wˈaɪld lˈiːvz fɹʌm wˈʊd ænd lˈɔːn, ænd fɹʌmðə hˈɛvənz ðə ɡlˈuːm, tə ʃˈoʊ ðə ɡˈɔːnt wˈɜːld lˈaɪɪŋ wˈæn, ænd mˈɔːɹnz kˈoʊld ɹˈoʊz ɐ blˈuːm.