text_original: WHEN LESSER LOVES When lesser loves by the relentless flow Of mighty currents from my arms were torn And swept, unheeding, to that silent bourn Whose mystic shades no living man may know, By night, by day, I sang my songs ; and so, Out of the sackcloth that my soul had worn. Weaving my purple, I forgot to mourn.
text_transcription: T ORG BY SARA SILARY WHEN LESSER LOVES BY THE RELENTLESS FLOW OF MIGHTY CURRENTS FROM MY ARMS WERE TORN AND SWEPT UNHEEDING TO THAT SILENT BORN WHOSE MYSTIC SHADES NO LIVING MAN MAY KNOW BY NIGHT BY DAY I SANG MY SONGS AND SO OUT OF THE SACKCLOTH THAT MY SOUL HAD WORN WEAVING MY PURPLE I FORGOT TO MOURN
phonemes: wˌɛn lˈɛsɚ lˈʌvz wɛn lˈɛsɚ lˈʌvz baɪ ðə ɹɪlˈɛntləs flˈoʊ ʌv mˈaɪɾi kˈɜːɹənts fɹʌm maɪ ˈɑːɹmz wɜː tˈɔːɹn ænd swˈɛpt, ʌnhˈiːdɪŋ, tə ðæt sˈaɪlənt bˈɔːɹn hˌuːz mˈɪstɪk ʃˈeɪdz nˈoʊ lˈɪvɪŋ mˈæn mˈeɪ nˈoʊ, baɪ nˈaɪt, baɪ dˈeɪ, aɪ sˈæŋ maɪ sˈɔŋz ; ænd sˈoʊ, ˌaʊɾəv ðə sˈækklɔθ ðæt maɪ sˈoʊl hæd wˈɔːɹn. wˈiːvɪŋ maɪ pˈɜːpəl, aɪ fɚɡˈɑːt tə mˈɔːɹn.