text_original: They are made silent in a silent place, Abiding past our gratitude and tears ; Nor shall our music touch with choral grace Their sleep s unnoted years. 46 TO AN OLD NURSE Better, perhaps, no voice importunate Deliver at the bourn of their repose The certain and immutable "Too late!" No living heart but knows.
text_transcription: THEY ARE MADE SILENT IN A SILENT PLACE ABIDING PAST OUR GRATITUDE AND TEARS NOR SHALL OUR MUSIC TOUCH WITH CORAL GRACE THEIR SLEEP'S UNNOTED YEARS BETTER PERHAPS NO VOICE IMPORTUNATE DELIVER AT THE BOURN OF THEIR REPOSE THE CERTAIN AND IMMUTABLE TOO LATE NO LIVING HEART BUT KNOWS
phonemes: ðeɪ ɑːɹ mˌeɪd sˈaɪlənt ɪn ɐ sˈaɪlənt plˈeɪs, ɐbˈaɪdɪŋ pˈæst ˌaʊɚ ɡɹˈæɾɪtˌuːd ænd tˈɪɹz ; nˈɔːɹ ʃˌæl ˌaʊɚ mjˈuːzɪk tˈʌtʃ wɪð kˈɔːɹəl ɡɹˈeɪs ðɛɹ slˈiːp ˈɛs ʌnnˈoʊɾᵻd jˈɪɹz. fˈɔːɹɾi sˈɪks tuː ɐn ˈoʊld nˈɜːs bˈɛɾɚ, pɚhˈæps, nˈoʊ vˈɔɪs ˌɪmpɔːɹtˈuːneɪt dᵻlˈɪvɚɹ æt ðə bˈɔːɹn ʌv ðɛɹ ɹᵻpˈoʊz ðə sˈɜːʔn̩ ænd ɪmjˈuːɾəbəl "tˈuː lˈeɪt!" nˈoʊ lˈɪvɪŋ hˈɑːɹt bˌʌt nˈoʊz.