text_original: But in midnight, lone hearts that are quaking, With the agonized numbness of grief, Are saved from the torture of breaking, By her bitter sweet draught of relief.
text_transcription: BUT IN MIDNIGHT LONE HEARTS THAT ARE QUAKING WITH THE AGONIZED NUMBNESS OF GRIEF ARE SAVED FROM THE TORTURE OF BREAKING BY HER BITTER SWEET DRAUGHT OF RELIEF
phonemes: bˌʌt ɪn mˈɪdnaɪt, lˈoʊn hˈɑːɹts ðæt ɑːɹ kwˈeɪkɪŋ, wɪððɪ ˈæɡənˌaɪzd nˈʌmnəs ʌv ɡɹˈiːf, ɑːɹ sˈeɪvd fɹʌmðə tˈɔːɹtʃɚɹ ʌv bɹˈeɪkɪŋ, baɪ hɜː bˈɪɾɚ swˈiːt dɹˈæft ʌv ɹᵻlˈiːf.