text_original: We may in after hours grow tender And strive to read our lives aright, But if to Love its due we render, We know Life's thread, at best, is slight! What if the look, the word, but spoken, Had been "the last" we ever met? Ah! Life had been too short, too broken, Its pang forever to forget! SEHNSUCHT!
text_transcription: WE MAY IN AFTER HOURS GROW TENDER AND STRIVE TO READ OUR LIVES ARIGHT BUT IF TO LOVE ITS STEW WE RENDER WE KNOW LIFE'S THREAD AT BEST IS SLIGHT WHAT IF THE LOOK THE WORD BUT SPOKEN HAD BEEN THE LAST WE EVER MET AH LIFE HAD BEEN TOO SHORT TOO BROKEN IT SPANG FOREVER TO FORGET END OF
phonemes: wiː mˈeɪ ɪn ˈæftɚɹ ˈaʊɚz ɡɹˈoʊ tˈɛndɚ ænd stɹˈaɪv tə ɹˈiːd ˌaʊɚ lˈaɪvz ɚɹˈaɪt, bˌʌt ɪf tə lˈʌv ɪts dˈuː wiː ɹˈɛndɚ, wiː nˈoʊ lˈaɪfz θɹˈɛd, æt bˈɛst, ɪz slˈaɪt! wˌʌt ɪf ðə lˈʊk, ðə wˈɜːd, bˌʌt spˈoʊkən, hɐdbɪn "ðə lˈæst" wiː ˈɛvɚ mˈɛt? ˈɑː! lˈaɪf hɐdbɪn tˈuː ʃˈɔːɹt, tˈuː bɹˈoʊkən, ɪts pˈæŋ fɚɹˈɛvɚ tə fɚɡˈɛt! sˈeɪnsʌxt!