text_original: See how the gold rose hangs upon its green, Thou, fair, the roses' queen, c 34 ROSE TIDE Bid it stay so for ever. Canst thou take Thy mild breath from our airs and let the blast Of winter lay our hearts and meadows waste, Hushing thy song to hear his discord wake?
text_transcription: SEE HOW THE GOLD ROSE HANGS UPON ITS GREEN THOU FAIR THE ROSY'S QUEEN BID IT STAY SO FOR EVER CANST THOU TAKE THY MILD BREATH FROM OUR EARS AND LET THE BLAST OF WINTER LAY OUR HEARTS AND MEADOWS WASTE HUSHING THY SONG TO HEAR HIS DISCORD WAKE
phonemes: sˈiː hˌaʊ ðə ɡˈoʊld ɹˈoʊz hˈæŋz əpˌɑːn ɪts ɡɹˈiːn, ðˈaʊ, fˈɛɹ, ðə ɹˈoʊzᵻz kwˈiːn, sˈiː θˈɜːɾi fˈɔːɹ ɹˈoʊz tˈaɪd bˈɪd ɪt stˈeɪ sˌoʊ fɔːɹ ˈɛvɚ. kˈænst ðˈaʊ tˈeɪk ðˌaɪ mˈaɪld bɹˈɛθ fɹʌm ˌaʊɚɹ ˈɛɹz ænd lˈɛt ðə blˈæst ʌv wˈɪntɚ lˈeɪ ˌaʊɚ hˈɑːɹts ænd mˈɛdoʊz wˈeɪst, hˈʌʃɪŋ ðˌaɪ sˈɔŋ tə hˈɪɹ hɪz dˈɪskɔːɹd wˈeɪk?