text_original: Oh, let thy rose Bloom on the wasted cheek, thy verdure close, Untenanted, the grave that winter hath Already dug beyond the golden corn That skirts the track of that funereal path Will take thee from us on one weeping morn
text_transcription: OH LET THY ROSE BLOOM ON THE WASTED CHEEK THY VERDURE CLOSE UNTENANTED THE GRAVE THAT WINTER HATH ALREADY DUG BEYOND THE GOLDEN CORN THAT SKIRTS THE TRACK OF THAT FUNEREAL PATH WILL TAKE THEE FROM US ON ONE WEEPING MORN
phonemes: ˈoʊ, lˈɛt ðˌaɪ ɹˈoʊz blˈuːm ɔnðə wˈeɪstᵻd tʃˈiːk, ðˌaɪ vˈɜːdʒɚ klˈoʊs, ʌntˈɛnəntᵻd, ðə ɡɹˈeɪv ðæt wˈɪntɚ hæθ ɔːlɹˌɛdi dˈʌɡ bᵻjˌɔnd ðə ɡˈoʊldən kˈɔːɹn ðæt skˈɜːts ðə tɹˈæk ʌv ðæt fjuːnˈiəɹɪəl pˈæθ wɪl tˈeɪk ðiː fɹʌm ˌʌs ˌɔn wˈʌn wˈiːpɪŋ mˈɔːɹn