text_original: There falls no echo from the dreaming trees, The moonlit meadows have forgot his song, These flowers were his azure eyes, and these The crimson lips that summer knew too long ; Young Love is dead, but these his elegy, These mindful blossoms, they shall never die
text_transcription: THERE FALLS NO ECHO FROM THE DREAMING TREES THE MOONLIT MEADOWS HAVE FORGOT HIS SONG THESE FLOWERS WERE HIS AZURE EYES AND THESE THE CRIMSON LIPS THAT SUMMER KNEW TOO LONG YOUNG LOVE IS DEAD BUT THESE HIS ELEGY THESE MINDFUL BLOSSOMS THEY SHALL NEVER DIE
phonemes: ðɛɹ fˈɔːlz nˈoʊ ˈɛkoʊ fɹʌmðə dɹˈiːmɪŋ tɹˈiːz, ðə mˈuːnlɪt mˈɛdoʊz hæv fɚɡˈɑːt hɪz sˈɔŋ, ðiːz flˈaʊɚz wɜː hɪz ˈæʒɚɹ ˈaɪz, ænd ðiːz ðə kɹˈɪmsən lˈɪps ðæt sˈʌmɚ nˈuː tˈuː lˈɔŋ ; jˈʌŋ lˈʌv ɪz dˈɛd, bˌʌt ðiːz hɪz ˈɛlɪdʒi, ðiːz mˈaɪndfəl blˈɔsəmz, ðeɪ ʃˌæl nˈɛvɚ dˈaɪ