text_original: I wept as I remembered, how often you and I Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, A handful of gray ashes, long, long ago at rest. Digitized by Google FHIEX Dull 1 l> 31)7 Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake. For Death he taketh all away, but these he cannot take.
text_transcription: I WEPT AS I REMEMBERED HOW OFTEN YOU AND I HAD TIRED THE SUN WITH TALKING AND SENT HIM DOWN THE SKY AND NOW THAT THOU ART LYING MY DEAR OLD CARRION GUEST A HANDFUL OF GRAY ASHES LONG LONG AGO AT REST STILL ARE THY PLEASANT VOICES THY NIGHTINGALES AWAKE FOR DEATH HE TAKE US ALL AWAY BUT THESE HE CANNOT TAKE
phonemes: aɪ wˈɛpt æz aɪ ɹᵻmˈɛmbɚd, hˌaʊ ˈɔfən juː ænd aɪ hæd tˈaɪɚd ðə sˈʌn wɪð tˈɔːkɪŋ ænd sˈɛnt hˌɪm dˌaʊn ðə skˈaɪ. ænd nˈaʊ ðæt ðˈaʊ ˈɑːɹt lˈaɪɪŋ, maɪ dˈɪɹ ˈoʊld kˈɛɹiən ɡˈɛst, ɐ hˈændfəl ʌv ɡɹˈeɪ ˈæʃᵻz, lˈɔŋ, lˈɔŋ ɐɡˈoʊ æt ɹˈɛst. dˈɪdʒɪtˌaɪzd baɪ ɡˈuːɡəl ˈɛfhˈiːks dˈʌl wˈʌn ˈɛl θˈɜːɾi wˈʌn)sˈɛvən stˈɪl ɑːɹ ðˌaɪ plˈɛzənt vˈɔɪsᵻz, ðˌaɪ nˈaɪɾɪŋɡˌeɪlz, ɐwˈeɪk. fɔːɹ dˈɛθ hiː tˈeɪkəθ ˈɔːl ɐwˈeɪ, bˌʌt ðiːz hiː kænˈɑːt tˈeɪk.