text_original: Her cheeks are paler than the moon That sails along a sunny sky, And yet her silent mouth is red Where tender words and kisses lie. I am a minstrel with a harp, For love of her my songs are sweet, And yet I dare not lift the voice That lies so far beneath her feet.
text_transcription: HER CHEEKS ARE PALER THAN THE MOON THAT SAILS ALONG A SUNNY SKY AND YET HER SILENT MOUTH IS RED WHERE TENDER WORDS AND KISSES LIE I AM A MINSTREL WITH A HARP FOR LOVE OF HER MY SONGS ARE SWEET AND YET I DARE NOT LIFT THE VOICE THAT LIES SO FAR BENEATH HER FEET
phonemes: hɜː tʃˈiːks ɑːɹ pˈeɪlɚ ðɐn ðə mˈuːn ðæt sˈeɪlz ɐlˈɔŋ ɐ sˈʌni skˈaɪ, ænd jˈɛt hɜː sˈaɪlənt mˈaʊθ ɪz ɹˈɛd wˌɛɹ tˈɛndɚ wˈɜːdz ænd kˈɪsᵻz lˈaɪ. aɪɐm ɐ mˈɪnstɹəl wɪð ɐ hˈɑːɹp, fɔːɹ lˈʌv ʌv hɜː maɪ sˈɔŋz ɑːɹ swˈiːt, ænd jˈɛt aɪ dˈɛɹ nˌɑːt lˈɪft ðə vˈɔɪs ðæt lˈaɪz sˈoʊ fˌɑːɹ bᵻnˌiːθ hɜː fˈiːt.