text_original: 54 A BROKEN THREAD. That silence — yes ! 't was yours not mine, You dropt my hand that day ; The long months passed, — you made no sign. And found no word to say. And yet I dream'd you stood last night, In your old pleasant way.
text_transcription: A BROKEN THREAD THAT SILENCE YES TWAS YOURS NOT MINE YOU DROPPED MY HAND THAT DAY THE LONG MONTHS PASSED YOU MADE NO SIGN AND FOUND NO WORD TO SAY AND YET I DREAMED YOU STOOD LAST NIGHT IN YOUR OLD PLEASANT WAY
phonemes: fˈɪfti fˈɔːɹ ɐ bɹˈoʊkən θɹˈɛd. ðæt sˈaɪləns — jˈɛs ! tˈiː wʌz jˈɔːɹz nˌɑːt mˈaɪn, juː dɹˈɑːpt maɪ hˈænd ðæt dˈeɪ ; ðə lˈɔŋ mˈʌnθs pˈæst, — juː mˌeɪd nˈoʊ sˈaɪn. ænd fˈaʊnd nˈoʊ wˈɜːd tə sˈeɪ. ænd jˈɛt aɪ dɹˈiːmd juː stˈʊd lˈæst nˈaɪt, ɪn jʊɹ ˈoʊld plˈɛzənt wˈeɪ.