text_original: And now that they have come, beguiled and led a stray  ing By Mother Nature, who would seem to joy in such deceiving, ON THE LAWN 119 How can they sing so blithely, with frost and famine playing, As if the world were never meant to be a place for grieving? What is the secret of the hope that bears them up so bravely In the shelterless unfed to day, the unprovided morrow ? Oh, would that I might learn it, I who sit here looking gravely With an apprehensive shiver for the shape of coming sorrow
text_transcription: AND NOW THAT THEY HAVE COME BEGUILED AND LED ASTRAYING BY MOTHER NATURE WHO WOULD SEEM TO JOY IN SUCH DECEIVING HOW CAN THEY SING SO BLITHELY WITH FROST AND FAMINE PLAYING AS IF THE WORLD WERE NEVER MEANT TO BE A PLACE FOR GRIEVING WHAT IS THE SECRET OF THE HOPE THAT BEARS THEM UP SO BRAVELY IN THE SHELTERLESS UNFED TO DAY THE UNPROVIDED MORROW OH WOULD THAT I MIGHT LEARN IT I WHO SIT HERE LOOKING GRAVELY WITH AN APPREHENSIVE SHIVER FOR THE SHAPE OF COMING SORROW
phonemes: ænd nˈaʊ ðæt ðeɪ hæv kˈʌm, bᵻɡˈaɪld ænd lˈɛd ɐ stɹˈeɪ ˈɪŋ baɪ mˈʌðɚ nˈeɪtʃɚ, hˌuː wʊd sˈiːm tə dʒˈɔɪ ɪn sˈʌtʃ dᵻsˈiːvɪŋ, ɔnðə lˈɔːn wˈʌnhˈʌndɹɪd nˈaɪntiːn hˌaʊ kæn ðeɪ sˈɪŋ sˌoʊ blˈaɪðli, wɪð fɹˈɔst ænd fˈæmɪn plˈeɪɪŋ, æz ɪf ðə wˈɜːld wɜː nˈɛvɚ mˈɛnt təbi ɐ plˈeɪs fɔːɹ ɡɹˈiːvɪŋ? wˌʌt ɪz ðə sˈiːkɹᵻt ʌvðə hˈoʊp ðæt bˈɛɹz ðˌɛm ˌʌp sˌoʊ bɹˈeɪvli ɪnðə ʃˈɛltɚləs ʌnfˈɛd tə dˈeɪ, ðɪ ʌnpɹəvˈaɪdᵻd mˈɑːɹoʊ ? ˈoʊ, wʊd ðæt aɪ mˌaɪt lˈɜːn ɪt, aɪ hˌuː sˈɪt hˈɪɹ lˈʊkɪŋ ɡɹˈeɪvli wɪð ɐn ˌæpɹihˈɛnsɪv ʃˈɪvɚ fɚðə ʃˈeɪp ʌv kˈʌmɪŋ sˈɑːɹoʊ