text_original: They make a fountain of the funeral urn  Fragrance and tint That, passing, hint They pass but to return. A YELLOW ROSE We find a myriad glimmerings of Truth; Her perfect face Withholds its grace, Granting the heart its youth.
text_transcription: THEY MAKE A FOUNTAIN OF THE FUNERAL URN FRAGRANCE AND TINT THAT PASSING HINT THEY PASS BUT TO RETURN WE FIND THE MYRIAD GLIMMERINGS OF TRUTH HER PERFECT FACE WITH HOLDS ITS GRACE GRANTING THE HEART ITS YOUTH
phonemes: ðeɪ mˌeɪk ɐ fˈaʊntɪn ʌvðə fjˈuːnɚɹəl ˈɜːn fɹˈeɪɡɹəns ænd tˈɪnt ðˈæt, pˈæsɪŋ, hˈɪnt ðeɪ pˈæs bˌʌt tə ɹᵻtˈɜːn. ɐ jˈɛloʊ ɹˈoʊz wiː fˈaɪnd ɐ mˈɪɹɪˌæd ɡlˈɪmɚɹɪŋz ʌv tɹˈuːθ; hɜː pˈɜːfɛkt fˈeɪs wɪðhˈoʊldz ɪts ɡɹˈeɪs, ɡɹˈæntɪŋ ðə hˈɑːɹt ɪts jˈuːθ.