text_original: The soft, warm haze Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways, And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts, The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning's rays Willidly shine upon and slowly melt, Too late to bid the violet live again.
text_transcription: THE SOFT WARM HAZE MAKES MOIST ONCE MORE THE SERE AND DUSTY WAYS AND CREEPING THROUGH WHERE DEAD LEAVES LIE IN DRIFTS THE VIOLET RETURNS SNOWLESS SIFTS ERE NIGHT AN ICY SHROUD WHICH MORNINGS RISE WITH IDLY SHINE UPON AND SLOWLY MELT TOO LATE TO BE THE VIOLET LEAVE AGAIN
phonemes: ðə sˈɔft, wˈɔːɹm hˈeɪz mˌeɪks mˈɔɪst wˈʌns mˈɔːɹ ðə sˈɪɹ ænd dˈʌsti wˈeɪz, ænd, kɹˈiːpɪŋ θɹuː wˌɛɹ dˈɛd lˈiːvz lˈaɪ ɪn dɹˈɪfts, ðə vˈaɪəlɪt ɹᵻtˈɜːnz. snˈoʊ nˈɔɪzləs sˈɪfts ˈɛɹ nˈaɪt, ɐn ˈaɪsi ʃɹˈaʊd, wˌɪtʃ mˈɔːɹnɪŋz ɹˈeɪz wˈɪlɪdli ʃˈaɪn əpˌɑːn ænd slˈoʊli mˈɛlt, tˈuː lˈeɪt tə bˈɪd ðə vˈaɪəlɪt lˈaɪv ɐɡˈɛn.