text_original: The glittering threshold is scarcely passed, When there gathers and wraps him round A thick white twilight, sullen and vast, In which there is neither form nor sound; The phantoms, the glory, vanish all, With the dying voice of the waterfall.
text_transcription: THE GLITTERING THRESHOLD IS SCARCELY PAST WHEN THERE GATHERS AND WRAPS HIM ROUND A THICK WHITE TWILIGHT SULLEN AND VAST IN WHICH THERE IS NEITHER FORM NOR SOUND THE PHANTOMS THE GLORY VANISH ALL WITH THE DYING VOICE OF THE WATERFALL
phonemes: ðə ɡlˈɪɾɚɹɪŋ θɹˈɛʃoʊld ɪz skˈɛɹsli pˈæst, wˌɛn ðɛɹ ɡˈæðɚz ænd ɹˈæps hˌɪm ɹˈaʊnd ɐ θˈɪk wˈaɪt twˈaɪlaɪt, sˈʌlən ænd vˈæst, ɪnwˌɪtʃ ðɛɹ ɪz nˈiːðɚ fˈɔːɹm nˈɔːɹ sˈaʊnd; ðə fˈæntəmz, ðə ɡlˈɔːɹi, vˈænɪʃ ˈɔːl, wɪððə dˈaɪɪŋ vˈɔɪs ʌvðə wˈɔːɾɚfˌɔːl.