text_original: Or you shall lean upon my neck and speak Soft sorrows for my death, as you~have missed By one short hour the joy that lovers seek ; And dream your crimson mouth as yet unkissed, Were crying for the moon, "God made me bold Too late," while all Death left of me grew cold.
text_transcription: OR YOU SHALL LEAN UPON MY NECK AND SPEAK SOFT SORROWS FOR MY DEATH AS YOU HAVE MISSED BY ONE SHORT HOUR THE JOY THAT LOVERS SEEK AND DREAM YOUR CRIMSON MOUTH AS YET UNKISED WERE CRYING FOR THE MOON GOD MADE ME BOLD TOO LATE WHILE ALL DEATH LEFT OF ME GREW COLD
phonemes: ɔːɹ juː ʃˌæl lˈiːn əpˌɑːn maɪ nˈɛk ænd spˈiːk sˈɔft sˈɑːɹoʊz fɔːɹ maɪ dˈɛθ, æz juː tˈɪldə hæv mˈɪst baɪ wˈʌn ʃˈɔːɹt ˈaʊɚ ðə dʒˈɔɪ ðæt lˈʌvɚz sˈiːk ; ænd dɹˈiːm jʊɹ kɹˈɪmsən mˈaʊθ æz jˈɛt ʌŋkˈɪst, wɜː kɹˈaɪɪŋ fɚðə mˈuːn, "ɡˈɑːd mˌeɪd mˌiː bˈoʊld tˈuː lˈeɪt," wˌaɪl ˈɔːl dˈɛθ lˈɛft ʌv mˌiː ɡɹˈuː kˈoʊld.