text_original: Thy amaranthine blooms Are not less lovely than her rose of joy ; And the rare, subtle perfumes which they breathe Never the senses cloy. Thou boldest in thy store Full satisfaction of all doubt, reply To question, and the golden clews to dreams Which idly passed us by. A GREETING. 2 S3 Darkness to tired eyes, Perplexed with vision, blinded with long day ; Quiet to busy hands, glad to fold up And lay their work away.
text_transcription: THY AMAR AND THINE BLOOMS ARE NOT LESS LOVELY THAN HER ROSE OF JOY AND THE RARE SUBTLE PERFUMES WHICH THEY BREATHE NEVER THE SENSES CROY THOU HOLD'ST IN THY STORE FULL SATISFACTION OF ALL DOUBT REPLIED TO QUESTION AND THE GOLDEN CLUES TO DREAMS WHICH IDLY PASSED US BY DARKNESS TO TIRED EYES PERPLEXED WITH VISION BLINDED WITH LONG DAY QUIET TO BUSY HANDS GLAD TO FOLD UP AND LAY THEIR WORK AWAY
phonemes: ðˌaɪ ˈæmɚɹˌænθaɪn blˈuːmz ɑːɹ nˌɑːt lˈɛs lˈʌvli ðɐn hɜː ɹˈoʊz ʌv dʒˈɔɪ ; ænd ðə ɹˈɛɹ, sˈʌɾəl pˈɜːfjuːmz wˌɪtʃ ðeɪ bɹˈiːð nˈɛvɚ ðə sˈɛnsᵻz klˈɔɪ. ðˈaʊ bˈoʊldɪst ɪn ðˌaɪ stˈɔːɹ fˈʊl sˌæɾɪsfˈækʃən ʌv ˈɔːl dˈaʊt, ɹᵻplˈaɪ tə kwˈɛstʃən, ænd ðə ɡˈoʊldən klˈuːz tə dɹˈiːmz wˌɪtʃ ˈaɪdli pˈæst ˌʌs bˈaɪ. ɐ ɡɹˈiːɾɪŋ. tˈuː ˈɛs θɹˈiː dˈɑːɹknəs tə tˈaɪɚd ˈaɪz, pɚplˈɛkst wɪð vˈɪʒən, blˈaɪndᵻd wɪð lˈɔŋ dˈeɪ ; kwˈaɪət tə bˈɪzi hˈændz, ɡlˈæd tə fˈoʊld ˌʌp ænd lˈeɪ ðɛɹ wˈɜːk ɐwˈeɪ.