text_original: H, dear and friendly Death, End of my road, however long it be, Waiting with hospitable hands stretched out And full of gifts for me ! Why do we call thee foe, Clouding with darksome mists thy face divine ? Life, she was sweet, but poor her largess seems When matched with thine.
text_transcription: H DEAR AND FRIENDLY DEATH END OF MY ROAD HOWEVER LONG IT BE WAITING WITH HOSPITABLE HANDS STRETCHED OUT AND FULL OF GIFTS FOR ME WHY DO WE CALL THEE FOE CLOUDING WITH DARKSOME MISTS THY FACE DIVINE LIFE SHE WAS SWEET BUT POOR HER LARGESSE SEEMS WHEN MATCHED WITH THINE
phonemes: ˈeɪtʃ, dˈɪɹ ænd fɹˈɛndli dˈɛθ, ˈɛnd ʌv maɪ ɹˈoʊd, haʊˈɛvɚ lˈɔŋ ɪt bˈiː, wˈeɪɾɪŋ wɪð hɑːspˈɪɾəbəl hˈændz stɹˈɛtʃt ˈaʊt ænd fˈʊl ʌv ɡˈɪfts fɔːɹ mˌiː ! wˌaɪ dˈuː wiː kˈɔːl ðiː fˈoʊ, klˈaʊdɪŋ wɪð dˈɑːɹksʌm mˈɪsts ðˌaɪ fˈeɪs dᵻvˈaɪn ? lˈaɪf, ʃiː wʌz swˈiːt, bˌʌt pˈʊɹ hɜː lˈɑːɹdʒɛs sˈiːmz wɛn mˈætʃt wɪð ðˈaɪn.