text_original: Slept on needles, near th' sky, and marked th' round moon rise Over purpling peaks of snow that hurt a fellow's eyes. Gone, like Indians, under brush and to some mystic place   Home of red men, long since gone, to join their dying race.
text_transcription: SLEPT ON NEEDLES NEAR THE SKY AND MARKED THE ROUND MOONRISE OVER PURPLING PEAKS OF SNOW THAT HURT A FELLOWS EYES GONE LIKE INDIANS UNDER BRUSH AND TO SOME MYSTIC PLACE HOME OF RED MEN LONG SINCE GONE TO JOIN THAT DYING RACE
phonemes: slˈɛpt ˌɔn nˈiːdəlz, nˌɪɹ tˌiːˈeɪtʃ skˈaɪ, ænd mˈɑːɹkt tˌiːˈeɪtʃ ɹˈaʊnd mˈuːn ɹˈaɪz ˌoʊvɚ pˈɜːplɪŋ pˈiːks ʌv snˈoʊ ðæt hˈɜːt ɐ fˈɛloʊz ˈaɪz. ɡˈɔn, lˈaɪk ˈɪndiənz, ˌʌndɚ bɹˈʌʃ ænd tə sˌʌm mˈɪstɪk plˈeɪs hˈoʊm ʌv ɹˈɛd mˈɛn, lˈɔŋ sˈɪns ɡˈɔn, tə dʒˈɔɪn ðɛɹ dˈaɪɪŋ ɹˈeɪs.