text_original: Old homestead! In that old, gray town, Thv vane is seaward blowing, The slip of garden stretches down To where the tide is flowing: Below they lie, their sails all furled, The ships that go about the world.
text_transcription: OLD HOMESTEAD IN THAT OLD GRAY TOWN THY VEINOUS SEAWARD BLOWING THE SLIP OF GARDEN STRETCHES DOWN TO WHERE THE TIDE IS FLOWING BELOW THEY LIE THEIR SAILS ALL FURLED THE SHIPS THAT GO ABOUT THE WORLD
phonemes: ˈoʊld hˈoʊmstɛd! ɪn ðæt ˈoʊld, ɡɹˈeɪ tˈaʊn, tˌiːˌeɪtʃvˈiː vˈeɪn ɪz sˈiːwɚd blˈoʊɪŋ, ðə slˈɪp ʌv ɡˈɑːɹdən stɹˈɛtʃᵻz dˌaʊn tʊ wˌɛɹ ðə tˈaɪd ɪz flˈoʊɪŋ: bᵻlˌoʊ ðeɪ lˈaɪ, ðɛɹ sˈeɪlz ˈɔːl fˈɜːld, ðə ʃˈɪps ðæt ɡˌoʊ ɐbˌaʊt ðə wˈɜːld.