text_original: Her violet velvet curtains trail Down to the floor, But brightly God's rich sunshine streams Into my cottage door; And not a picture on her walls, Hath beauty unto me, Like that which from my window frame I daily lean to see.
text_transcription: HER VIOLET VELVET CURTAINS TRAIL DOWN TO THE FLOOR BUT BRIGHTLY GOD'S RICH SUNSHINE STREAMS INTO MY COTTAGE DOOR AND NOT A PICTURE ON HER WALLS HATH BEAUTY UNTO ME LIKE THAT WHICH FROM MY WINDOW FRAME I DAILY LEAN TO SEE
phonemes: hɜː vˈaɪəlɪt vˈɛlvɪt kˈɜːtənz tɹˈeɪl dˌaʊn tə ðə flˈɔːɹ, bˌʌt bɹˈaɪtli ɡˈɑːdz ɹˈɪtʃ sˈʌnʃaɪn stɹˈiːmz ˌɪntʊ maɪ kˈɑːɾɪdʒ dˈɔːɹ; ænd nˌɑːɾə pˈɪktʃɚɹ ˌɔn hɜː wˈɔːlz, hæθ bjˈuːɾi ˌʌntʊ mˌiː, lˈaɪk ðæt wˌɪtʃ fɹʌm maɪ wˈɪndoʊ fɹˈeɪm aɪ dˈeɪli lˈiːn tuː sˈiː.