text_original: thou hast kissed him cold, His eyelids turn from loving, and his store Of shaken ringlets lose their early gold And are as dust, his lips shall sing no more Joy to the morn that calls him from his bed ; We knew no other love and he is dead
text_transcription: THOU HAST KISSED HIM COLD HIS EYELIDS TURN FROM LOVING AND HIS STORE OF SHAKEN RINGLETS LOSE THEIR EARLY GOLD AND ICE DUST HIS LIPS SHALL SING NO MORE JOY TO THE MORN THAT CALLS HIM FROM HIS BED WE KNEW NO OTHER LOVE AND HE IS DEAD
phonemes: ðˈaʊ hˈeɪst kˈɪst hˌɪm kˈoʊld, hɪz ˈaɪlɪdz tˈɜːn fɹʌm lˈʌvɪŋ, ænd hɪz stˈɔːɹ ʌv ʃˈeɪkən ɹˈɪŋɡlɪts lˈuːz ðɛɹ ˈɜːli ɡˈoʊld ænd ɑːɹ æz dˈʌst, hɪz lˈɪps ʃˌæl sˈɪŋ nˈoʊmˌɔːɹ dʒˈɔɪ tə ðə mˈɔːɹn ðæt kˈɔːlz hˌɪm fɹʌm hɪz bˈɛd ; wiː nˈuː nˈoʊ ˈʌðɚ lˈʌv ænd hiː ɪz dˈɛd