text_original: Weaving my purple, I forgot to mourn. Pouring my grief out in melodious woe ! Now am I dumb, dear heart. My lips are mute. Yet if from yonder blue height thou dost lean Earthward, remembering love's last wordless kiss, Know thou no trembling thrills of harp or lute, Dying soft wails and tender songs between, Were half so voiceful as this silence is
text_transcription: WEAVING MY PURPLE I FORGOT TO MOURN POURING MY GRIEF OUT IN MELODIOUS WOE NOW I AM DUMB DEAR HEART MY LIPS ARE MUTE YET IF FROM YONDER BLUE HEIGHT THOU DOST LEAN EARTHWARD REMEMBERING LOVE'S LAST WORDLESS KISS KNOW THOU NO TREMBLING THRILLS OF HARP OR LUTE DYING SOFT WAILS AND TENDER SONGS BETWEEN WERE HALF SO VOICEFUL AS THIS SILENCE IS
phonemes: wˈiːvɪŋ maɪ pˈɜːpəl, aɪ fɚɡˈɑːt tə mˈɔːɹn. pˈɔːɹɪŋ maɪ ɡɹˈiːf ˈaʊt ɪn mɛlˈoʊdiəs wˈoʊ ! nˈaʊ æm aɪ dˈʌm, dˈɪɹ hˈɑːɹt. maɪ lˈɪps ɑːɹ mjˈuːt. jˈɛt ɪf fɹʌm jˈɑːndɚ blˈuː hˈaɪt ðˈaʊ dˈɑːst lˈiːn ˈɜːθwɚd, ɹᵻmˈɛmbɚɹɪŋ lˈʌvz lˈæst wˈɜːdləs kˈɪs, nˈoʊ ðˈaʊ nˈoʊ tɹˈɛmblɪŋ θɹˈɪlz ʌv hˈɑːɹp ɔːɹ lˈuːt, dˈaɪɪŋ sˈɔft wˈeɪlz ænd tˈɛndɚ sˈɔŋz bᵻtwˈiːn, wɜː hˈæf sˌoʊ vˈɔɪsfəl æz ðɪs sˈaɪləns ɪz