text_original: — That Nature's heart seems eager to atone For music often ending in a moan By silence tender with the peace it has; But ever, as on morning ways I pass, I see the fields with hints of terror sown — A tuft of fur, or small and bleaching bone, Or heap of little feathers in the grass. How fares it with the lesser wards of life"? — Always they seem so restless, so alert.
text_transcription: THAT NATURE'S HEART SEEMS EAGER TO ATONE FOR MUSIC OFTEN ENDING IN A MOAN BY SILENCE TENDER WITH THE PEACE IT HAS BUT EVER AS ON MORNING WAYS I PASS I SEE THE FIELDS WITH HINTS OF TERROR SOWN A TUFT OF FUR OR SMALL AND BLEACHING BONE OR HEAP OF LITTLE FEATHERS IN THE GRASS HOW FARES IT WITH THE LESSER WALLS OF LIFE ALWAYS THEY SEEM SO RESTLESS SO ALERT
phonemes: — ðæt nˈeɪtʃɚz hˈɑːɹt sˈiːmz ˈiːɡɚ tʊ ɐtˈoʊn fɔːɹ mjˈuːzɪk ˈɔfən ˈɛndɪŋ ɪn ɐ mˈoʊn baɪ sˈaɪləns tˈɛndɚ wɪððə pˈiːs ɪt hˈæz; bˌʌt ˈɛvɚ, æz ˌɔn mˈɔːɹnɪŋ wˈeɪz aɪ pˈæs, aɪ sˈiː ðə fˈiːldz wɪð hˈɪnts ʌv tˈɛɹɚ sˈoʊn — ɐ tˈʌft ʌv fˈɜː, ɔːɹ smˈɔːl ænd blˈiːtʃɪŋ bˈoʊn, ɔːɹ hˈiːp ʌv lˈɪɾəl fˈɛðɚz ɪnðə ɡɹˈæs. hˌaʊ fˈɛɹz ɪt wɪððə lˈɛsɚ wˈɔːɹdz ʌv lˈaɪf"? — ˈɔːlweɪz ðeɪ sˈiːm sˌoʊ ɹˈɛstləs, sˌoʊ ɐlˈɜːt.