text_original: The day of the picnic was as balmy and blue as those that had gone before. The dew was still hanging on the clustered white roses which climbed to her latticed casement when Elsie looked out. The sweet, wet blossoms touched her face as she leaned forward into the pure morning air.
text_transcription: THE DAY OF THE PICNIC WAS AS BALMY AND BLUE AS THOSE THAT HAD GONE BEFORE THE DEW WAS STILL HANGING ON THE CLUSTERED WHITE ROSES WHICH CLIMBED TO HER LATTICED CASEMENT WHEN ELSIE LOOKED OUT THE SWEET WET BLOSSOMS TOUCHED HER FACE AS SHE LEANED FORWARD INTO THE PURE MORNING AIR
phonemes: ðə dˈeɪ ʌvðə pˈɪknɪk wʌz æz bˈɑːmi ænd blˈuː æz ðoʊz ðæt hæd ɡɔn bᵻfˈɔːɹ. ðə dˈuː wʌz stˈɪl hˈæŋɪŋ ɔnðə klˈʌstɚd wˈaɪt ɹˈoʊzᵻz wˌɪtʃ klˈaɪmd tə hɜː lˈæɾɪst kˈeɪsmənt wɛn ˈɛlsi lˈʊkt ˈaʊt. ðə swˈiːt, wˈɛt blˈɔsəmz tˈʌtʃt hɜː fˈeɪs æz ʃiː lˈiːnd fˈɔːɹwɚd ˌɪntʊ ðə pjˈʊɹ mˈɔːɹnɪŋ ˈɛɹ.