text_original: Or soon or late, there is no more to fear." It was not true, my soul ! it was not true ! " Thou art not lost while I remember thee, Lover and friend ! " I cry, with bated breath. What if the years, slow creeping like the blue, Resistless tide, should blot that face from me ? Not to remember would be worse than death
text_transcription: OR SOON OR LATE THERE IS NO MORE TO FEAR IT WAS NOT TRUE MY SOUL IT WAS NOT TRUE THOU ART NOT LOST WHILE I REMEMBER THEE LOVER AND FRIEND I CRY WITH BATED BREATH WHAT IF THE YEARS SLOW CREEPING LIKE THE BLUE RESISTLESS TIDE SHOULD BLOT THAT FACE FROM ME NOT TO REMEMBER WOULD BE WORSE THAN DEATH
phonemes: ɔːɹ sˈuːn ɔːɹ lˈeɪt, ðɛɹ ɪz nˈoʊmˌɔːɹ tə fˈɪɹ." ɪt wʌz nˌɑːt tɹˈuː, maɪ sˈoʊl ! ɪt wʌz nˌɑːt tɹˈuː ! " ðˈaʊ ˈɑːɹt nˌɑːt lˈɔst wˌaɪl aɪ ɹᵻmˈɛmbɚ ðˈiː, lˈʌvɚɹ ænd fɹˈɛnd ! " aɪ kɹˈaɪ, wɪð bˈeɪɾᵻd bɹˈɛθ. wˌʌt ɪf ðə jˈɪɹz, slˈoʊ kɹˈiːpɪŋ lˈaɪk ðə blˈuː, ɹᵻzˈɪstləs tˈaɪd, ʃˌʊd blˈɑːt ðæt fˈeɪs fɹʌm mˌiː ? nˌɑːt tə ɹᵻmˈɛmbɚ wʊd biː wˈɜːs ðɐn dˈɛθ