text_original: Some of thy pensiveness serene, Some of thy never dying green, Put in this scrip of mine,   That griefs may fall like snow flakes light, And deck me in a robe of white, Ready to be an angel bright,   O sweetly mournful pine.
text_transcription: SOME OF THY PENSIVENESS SERENE SOME OF THY NEVER DYING GREEN PUT IN THIS SCRIP OF MINE THAT GRIEFS MAY FALL LIKE SNOW FLAKES LIGHT AND DECK ME IN A ROBE OF WHITE READY TO BE AN ANGEL BRIGHT O SWEETLY MOURNFUL PINE
phonemes: sˌʌm ʌv ðˌaɪ pˈɛnsɪvnəs sɚɹˈiːn, sˌʌm ʌv ðˌaɪ nˈɛvɚ dˈaɪɪŋ ɡɹˈiːn, pˌʊt ɪn ðɪs skɹˈɪp ʌv mˈaɪn,   ðæt ɡɹˈiːfs mˈeɪ fˈɔːl lˈaɪk snˈoʊ flˈeɪks lˈaɪt, ænd dˈɛk mˌiː ɪn ɐ ɹˈoʊb ʌv wˈaɪt, ɹˈɛdi təbi ɐn ˈeɪndʒəl bɹˈaɪt,   ˈoʊ swˈiːtli mˈɔːɹnfəl pˈaɪn.