text_original: The bare boughs weave a net upon the sky To catch Love's wings and his fair body bruise ; There are no flowers in the rosary No song birds in the mournful avenues ; Though on the sodden air not lightly breaks The elegy of Youth, whom love forsakes.
text_transcription: BARE BOUGHS WEAVE A NET UPON THE SKY TO CATCH LOVE'S WINGS AND HIS FAIR BODY BRUISE THERE ARE NO FLOWERS IN THE ROSARY NO SONG BIRDS IN THE MOURNFUL AVENUES THOUGH ON THE SODDEN AIR NOT LIGHTLY BREAKS THE ELEGY OF YOUTH WHOM LOVE FORSAKES
phonemes: ðə bˈɛɹ bˈaʊz wˈiːv ɐ nˈɛt əpˌɑːn ðə skˈaɪ tə kˈætʃ lˈʌvz wˈɪŋz ænd hɪz fˈɛɹ bˈɑːdi bɹˈuːz ; ðɛɹˌɑːɹ nˈoʊ flˈaʊɚz ɪnðə ɹˈoʊzɚɹi nˈoʊ sˈɔŋ bˈɜːdz ɪnðə mˈɔːɹnfəl ˈævənˌuːz ; ðˌoʊ ɔnðə sˈɑːdən ˈɛɹ nˌɑːt lˈaɪtli bɹˈeɪks ðɪ ˈɛlɪdʒi ʌv jˈuːθ, hˈuːm lˈʌv fɔːɹsˈeɪks.