text_original: On crumbs from the children's table That crumble, dropped from above, My heart feeds, fed with unstable Loose waifs of a child's light love. Though love in your heart were brittle As glass that breaks with a touch, You haply would lend him a little Who surely would give you much.
text_transcription: ON CRUMBS FROM THE CHILDREN'S TABLE THAT CRUMBLE DROPPED FROM ABOVE MY HEART FEEDS FED WITH UNSTABLE LOOSE WAVES OF A CHILD'S LIGHT LOVE LOVE IN YOUR HEART WERE BRITTLE AS GLASS THAT BREAKS WITH A TOUCH YOU HAPLY WOULD LEND HIM A LITTLE WHO SURELY WOULD GIVE YOU MUCH
phonemes: ˌɔn kɹˈʌmz fɹʌmðə tʃˈɪldɹənz tˈeɪbəl ðæt kɹˈʌmbəl, dɹˈɑːpt fɹʌm əbˈʌv, maɪ hˈɑːɹt fˈiːdz, fˈɛd wɪð ʌnstˈeɪbəl lˈuːs wˈeɪfs əvə tʃˈaɪldz lˈaɪt lˈʌv. ðˌoʊ lˈʌv ɪn jʊɹ hˈɑːɹt wɜː bɹˈɪɾəl æz ɡlˈæs ðæt bɹˈeɪks wɪð ɐ tˈʌtʃ, juː hˈæpli wʊd lˈɛnd hˌɪm ɐ lˈɪɾəl hˌuː ʃˈʊɹli wʊd ɡˈɪv juː mˈʌtʃ.