text_original: But her ghost comes to night, With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes, And it stands in the light, And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs. There's the ghost of a Joy, A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much, And the hands that destroy Clasped it close, and it died at the withering touch.
text_transcription: BUT HER GHOST COMES TO NIGHT WITH ITS SKELETON FACE AND EXPRESSIONLESS EYES AND IT STANDS IN THE LIGHT AND MOCKS ME AND JEERS ME WITH SOBS AND WITH SIGHS THERE'S THE GHOST OF A JOY A FRAIL FRAGILE THING AND I PRIZED IT TOO MUCH AND THE HANDS THAT DESTROY CLASPED IT CLOSE AND IT DIED AT THE WITHERING TOUCH
phonemes: bˌʌt hɜː ɡˈoʊst kˈʌmz tə nˈaɪt, wɪð ɪts skˈɛlᵻtən fˈeɪs ænd ɛkspɹˈɛʃənləs ˈaɪz, ænd ɪt stˈændz ɪnðə lˈaɪt, ænd mˈɑːks mˌiː, ænd dʒˈɪɹz mˌiː wɪð sˈɑːbz ænd wɪð sˈaɪz. ðɛɹz ðə ɡˈoʊst əvə dʒˈɔɪ, ɐ fɹˈeɪl, fɹˈædʒəl θˈɪŋ, ænd aɪ pɹˈaɪzd ɪt tˈuː mʌtʃ, ænd ðə hˈændz ðæt dᵻstɹˈɔɪ klˈæspt ɪt klˈoʊs, ænd ɪt dˈaɪd æt ðə wˈɪðɚɹɪŋ tˈʌtʃ.