text_original: "My spirits flag  my hopes decay   Still that dread death bell smites my ear, And many a boding seems to say, 'Countess, prepare, thy end is near!'" Thus sore and sad that lady grieved, In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear, And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved, And let fall many a bitter tear.
text_transcription: MY SPIRIT'S FLAG MY HOPES DECAY STILL THAT DREAD DEATH BELL SMITES MY EAR AND MANY A BODING SEEMS TO SAY COUNTESS PREPARE THY END IS NEAR THUS SAW AND SAD THAT LADY GRIEVED IN CUMNA HALL SO LONE AND DREAR AND MANY A HEART FELT SIGH SHE HEAVED AND LET FALL MANY A BITTER TEAR
phonemes: "maɪ spˈɪɹɪts flˈæɡ maɪ hˈoʊps dᵻkˈeɪ stˈɪl ðæt dɹˈɛd dˈɛθ bˈɛl smˈaɪts maɪ ˈɪɹ, ænd mˈɛni ɐ bˈoʊdɪŋ sˈiːmz tə sˈeɪ, kˈaʊntɛs, pɹɪpˈɛɹ, ðˌaɪ ˈɛnd ɪz nˈɪɹ!" ðˈʌs sˈɔːɹ ænd sˈæd ðæt lˈeɪdi ɡɹˈiːvd, ɪn kˈʌmnɚ hˈɔːl sˌoʊ lˈoʊn ænd dɹˈɪɹ, ænd mˈɛni ɐ hˈɑːɹtfɛlt sˈaɪ ʃiː hˈiːvd, ænd lˈɛt fˈɔːl mˈɛni ɐ bˈɪɾɚ tˈɪɹ.