text_original: Her hands as white as lilies fair, Most dreadfully she then did wring She said, my death's approaching near, Would I pity take and comfort him It only brings my fatal fall, 'Tis I who must receive the wound The crimson dye forsook her cheeks, At his feet she dropp'd upon the ground.
text_transcription: HER HANDS AS WHITE AS LILIES FAIR MOST DREADFULLY SHE DID THEN RING SHE SAID MY DEATHS APPROACHING NEAR WHAT I PITY TAKE AND COMFORT HIM IT ONLY BRINGS MY FATAL FALL TIS I WHO MUST RECEIVE THE WOUND THE CRIMSON DYE FORSOOK HER CHEEKS AT HIS FEET SHE DROPPED UPON THE GROUND
phonemes: hɜː hˈændz æz wˈaɪt æz lˈɪliz fˈɛɹ, mˈoʊst dɹˈɛdfəli ʃiː ðˈɛn dˈɪd ɹˈɪŋ ʃiː sˈɛd, maɪ dˈɛθz ɐpɹˈoʊtʃɪŋ nˈɪɹ, wʊd aɪ pˈɪɾi tˈeɪk ænd kˈʌmfɚt hˌɪm ɪɾ ˈoʊnli bɹˈɪŋz maɪ fˈeɪɾəl fˈɔːl, tˈɪz aɪ hˌuː mˈʌst ɹᵻsˈiːv ðə wˈuːnd ðə kɹˈɪmsən dˈaɪ fɔːɹsˈʊk hɜː tʃˈiːks, æt hɪz fˈiːt ʃiː dɹˈɑːpd əpˌɑːn ðə ɡɹˈaʊnd.