text_original: Brown Earth alone is glad, Robing her breast with fallen leaves and flow rs. 40 IN AUTUMN High memories stir; the spirit s feet are slow, In nameless fields where tears alone are fruit. And voices of the wind alone transmute The music that I lost so long ago.
text_transcription: BROWN EARTH ALONE IS GLAD ROBING HER BREAST WITH FALLEN LEAVES AND FLOWERS HIGH MEMORIES STIR THE SPIRIT'S FEET ARE SLOW IN NAMELESS FIELDS WHERE TEARS ALONE ARE FRUIT AND VOICES OF THE WIND ALONE TRANSMUTE THE MUSIC THAT I LOST SO LONG AGO
phonemes: bɹˈaʊn ˈɜːθ ɐlˈoʊn ɪz ɡlˈæd, ɹˈoʊbɪŋ hɜː bɹˈɛst wɪð fˈɔːlən lˈiːvz ænd flˈoʊ ˌɑːɹɹˈɛs. fˈɔːɹɾi ɪn ˈɔːɾʌm hˈaɪ mˈɛmɚɹiz stˈɜː; ðə spˈɪɹɪt ˈɛs fˈiːt ɑːɹ slˈoʊ, ɪn nˈeɪmləs fˈiːldz wˌɛɹ tˈɪɹz ɐlˈoʊn ɑːɹ fɹˈuːt. ænd vˈɔɪsᵻz ʌvðə wˈɪnd ɐlˈoʊn tɹænsmjˈuːt ðə mjˈuːzɪk ðæt aɪ lˈɔst sˌoʊ lˈɔŋ ɐɡˈoʊ.