text_original: 41 SONNE'TS ON tHE SEA'S VOICE III How very still this odorous, dim space Amid the pines I the light is reverent, Pausing as one who stands with meek intent On thresholds of an everlasting place. A single iris waits in weary grace — Her countenance before the dawning bent, As Faith might linger, husht and innocent. With all an altar's glory on her face.
text_transcription: ST THREE HOW VERY STILL THIS ODOROUS DIM SPACE AMID THE PINES THE LIGHT IS REVERENT PAUSING AS ONE WHO STANDS WITH MEEK INTENT ON THRESHOLDS OF AN EVERLASTING PLACE A SINGLE IRIS WAITS IN WEARY GRACE HER COUNTENANCE BEFORE THE DAWNING BENT AS FAITH MIGHT LINGER HUSHED AND INNOCENT WITH ALL AN ALTAR'S GLORY ON HER FACE
phonemes: fˈɔːɹɾi wˈʌn sˈɑːnɛts ˌɔn tˈiː hiː sˈiːz vˈɔɪs ɹˌoʊmən θɹˈiː hˌaʊ vˈɛɹi stˈɪl ðɪs ˈoʊdɚɹəs, dˈɪm spˈeɪs ɐmˈɪd ðə pˈaɪnz aɪ ðə lˈaɪt ɪz ɹˈɛvɚɹənt, pˈɔːzɪŋ æz wˈʌn hˌuː stˈændz wɪð mˈiːk ɪntˈɛnt ˌɔn θɹˈɛʃoʊldz əvən ˌɛvɚlˈæstɪŋ plˈeɪs. ɐ sˈɪŋɡəl ˈaɪɹɪs wˈeɪts ɪn wˈɪɹi ɡɹˈeɪs — hɜː kˈaʊntənəns bᵻfˌɔːɹ ðə dˈɔːnɪŋ bˈɛnt, æz fˈeɪθ mˌaɪt lˈɪŋɡɚ, hˈʌʃt ænd ˈɪnəsənt. wɪð ˈɔːl ɐn ˈɔltɚz ɡlˈɔːɹi ˌɔn hɜː fˈeɪs.