text_original: I by death made brave Shall not heed their blowing, Though the flowers are glowing That I praised above ; Holding in my grave Seed too fair for sowing, Knowledge past all knowing, Thee, my love I 77 EPITHALAMIUM THESE are his years, he will pos
text_transcription: I BY DEATH MADE BRAVE SHALL NOT HEED THEIR BLOWING THOUGH THE FLOWERS ARE GLOWING THAT I PRAISED ABOVE HOLDING IN MY GRAVE SEAT TOO FAIR FOR SOWING KNOWLEDGE PAST ALL KNOWING THEE MY LOVE END OF POEM THIS RECORDING IS IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN
phonemes: aɪ baɪ dˈɛθ mˌeɪd bɹˈeɪv ʃˌæl nˌɑːt hˈiːd ðɛɹ blˈoʊɪŋ, ðˌoʊ ðə flˈaʊɚz ɑːɹ ɡlˈoʊɪŋ ðæt aɪ pɹˈeɪzd əbˈʌv ; hˈoʊldɪŋ ɪn maɪ ɡɹˈeɪv sˈiːd tˈuː fˈɛɹ fɔːɹ sˈoʊɪŋ, nˈɑːlɪdʒ pˈæst ˈɔːl nˈoʊɪŋ, ðˈiː, maɪ lˈʌv aɪ sˈɛvənti sˈɛvən ˌɛpɪθɐlˈeɪmiəm ðiːz ɑːɹ hɪz jˈɪɹz, hiː wɪl pˈɑːs