text_original: With its foss choked with rushes, and spider webs flung, Over walls where the marchmen their red weapons hung, With a curse on their name, and a sigh for the hour That tarries so long.
text_transcription: WITH ITS FROST CHOKED WITH RUSHES AND SPIDER WEBS FLUNG OVER WALLS WHERE THE MARCHMEN THEIR RED WEAPONS HUNG WITH A CURSE ON THEIR NAME AND A SIGH FOR THE HOUR THAT TARRIES SO LONG
phonemes: wɪð ɪts fˈɑːs tʃˈoʊkt wɪð ɹˈʌʃᵻz, ænd spˈaɪdɚ wˈɛbz flˈʌŋ, ˌoʊvɚ wˈɔːlz wˌɛɹ ðə mˈɑːɹtʃmɛn ðɛɹ ɹˈɛd wˈɛpənz hˈʌŋ, wɪð ɐ kˈɜːs ˌɔn ðɛɹ nˈeɪm, ænd ɐ sˈaɪ fɚðɪ ˈaʊɚ ðæt tˈæɹiz sˌoʊ lˈɔŋ.