text_original: There's the ghost of a Love, Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest, But he towers above All the others  this ghost: yet a ghost at the best. I am weary, and fain Would forget all these dead: but the gibbering host Make my struggle in vain, In each shadowy corner there lurketh a ghost. FLEEING AWAY.
text_transcription: THERE'S THE GHOST OF HER LOVE BORNE WITH JOY REARED WITH HOPE DIED IN PAIN AND UNREST BUT HE TOWERS ABOVE ALL THE OTHERS THIS GHOST YET A GHOST AT THE BEST I AM WEARY AND FAIN WOULD FORGET ALL THESE DEAD BUT THE GIBBERING HOST MAKE MY STRUGGLE IN VAIN IN EACH SHADOWY CORNER THERE LURKETH A GHOST END OF P
phonemes: ðɛɹz ðə ɡˈoʊst əvə lˈʌv, bˈɔːɹn wɪð dʒˈɔɪ, ɹˈɪɹd wɪð hˈoʊp, dˈaɪd ɪn pˈeɪn ænd ʌnɹˈɛst, bˌʌt hiː tˈaʊɚz əbˌʌv ˈɔːl ðɪ ˈʌðɚz ðɪs ɡˈoʊst: jˈɛt ɐ ɡˈoʊst æt ðə bˈɛst. aɪɐm wˈɪɹi, ænd fˈeɪn wʊd fɚɡˈɛt ˈɔːl ðiːz dˈɛd: bˌʌt ðə dʒˈɪbɚɹɪŋ hˈoʊst mˌeɪk maɪ stɹˈʌɡəl ɪn vˈeɪn, ɪn ˈiːtʃ ʃˈædoʊi kˈɔːɹnɚ ðɛɹ lˈɜːkəθ ɐ ɡˈoʊst. flˈiːɪŋ ɐwˈeɪ.