text_original: For whom are those glorious chambers wrought, In the cold and cloudless night? Is there neither spirit nor motion of thought In forms so lovely, and hues so bright? Hear what the gray haired woodmen tell Of this wild stream and its rocky dell.
text_transcription: FOR WHOM ARE THOSE GLORIOUS CHAMBERS WROUGHT IN THE COLD AND CLOUDLESS NIGHT IS THERE NEITHER SPIRIT NOR MOTION OF THOUGHT IN FORMS SO LOVELY AND USE SO BRIGHT HEAR WHAT THE GREY HAIRED WOODMAN TELL OF THIS WILD STREAM AND ITS ROCKY DELL
phonemes: fɔːɹ hˈuːm ɑːɹ ðoʊz ɡlˈɔːɹiəs tʃˈeɪmbɚz ɹˈɔːt, ɪnðə kˈoʊld ænd klˈaʊdləs nˈaɪt? ɪz ðɛɹ nˈiːðɚ spˈɪɹɪt nˈɔːɹ mˈoʊʃən ʌv θˈɔːt ɪn fˈɔːɹmz sˌoʊ lˈʌvli, ænd hjˈuːz sˌoʊ bɹˈaɪt? hˈɪɹ wʌt ðə ɡɹˈeɪ hˈɛɹd wˈʊdmɛn tˈɛl ʌv ðɪs wˈaɪld stɹˈiːm ænd ɪts ɹˈɑːki dˈɛl.