text_original: The wind blows through the churchyard grass ; I hear it when the nights are still ; I hear the crickets chirping shrill, I hear low words and laughter pass, And gladness in that house, alas, Where I have nothing more to do, Under the rosemary and rue.
text_transcription: THE WIND BLOWS THROUGH THE CHURCHYARD GRASS I HEAR IT WHEN THE NIGHTS ARE STILL I HEAR THE CRICKETS CHIRPING SHRILL I HEAR LOW WORDS AND LAUGHTER PASS AND GLADNESS IN THAT HOUSE ALAS WHERE I HAVE NOTHING MORE TO DO UNDER THE ROSEMARY AND ROO
phonemes: ðə wˈɪnd blˈoʊz θɹuː ðə tʃˈɜːtʃjɑːɹd ɡɹˈæs ; aɪ hˈɪɹ ɪt wɛn ðə nˈaɪts ɑːɹ stˈɪl ; aɪ hˈɪɹ ðə kɹˈɪkɪts tʃˈɜːpɪŋ ʃɹˈɪl, aɪ hˈɪɹ lˈoʊ wˈɜːdz ænd lˈæftɚ pˈæs, ænd ɡlˈædnəs ɪn ðæt hˈaʊs, ɐlˈæs, wˌɛɹ aɪ hæv nˈʌθɪŋ mˈɔːɹ tə dˈuː, ˌʌndɚ ðə ɹˈoʊzmɚɹi ænd ɹˈuː.