text_original: within thy hollowed hand My heart is lying as a little rose, So faint and faded, scarce could one suppose It might look in thine eyes and understand The song they sing unto a weary land, Making it radiant, yet because I dare, To love thee, being weak, lose not thine air Of passive distance, fateful and most grand. Pity me not, nor turn away awhile Till absence's cloud has caught my passion up.
text_transcription: WITHIN THY HOLLOWED HAND MY HEART IS LYING AS A LITTLE ROSE SO FAINT AND FADED SCARCE COULD ONE SUPPOSE IT MIGHT LOOK IN THINE EYES AND UNDERSTAND THE SONG THEY SING UNTO A WEARY LAND MAKING IT RADIANT YET BECAUSE I DARE TO LOVE THEE BEING WEAK LOSE NOT THINE AIR OF PASSIVE DISTANCE FATEFUL AND MOST GRAND PITY ME NOT NOR TURN AWAY AWHILE TILL ABSENCE CLOUD HAS CALLED MY PASSION UP
phonemes: wɪðˌɪn ðˌaɪ hˈɑːloʊd hˈænd maɪ hˈɑːɹt ɪz lˈaɪɪŋ æz ɐ lˈɪɾəl ɹˈoʊz, sˌoʊ fˈeɪnt ænd fˈeɪdᵻd, skˈɛɹs kʊd wˈʌn səpˈoʊz ɪt mˌaɪt lˈʊk ɪn ðaɪn ˈaɪz ænd ˌʌndɚstˈænd ðə sˈɔŋ ðeɪ sˈɪŋ ˌʌntʊ ɐ wˈɪɹi lˈænd, mˌeɪkɪŋ ɪt ɹˈeɪdiənt, jˈɛt bɪkˈʌz aɪ dˈɛɹ, tə lˈʌv ðˈiː, bˌiːɪŋ wˈiːk, lˈuːz nˌɑːt ðaɪn ˈɛɹ ʌv pˈæsɪv dˈɪstəns, fˈeɪtfəl ænd mˈoʊst ɡɹˈænd. pˈɪɾi mˌiː nˈɑːt, nˈɔːɹ tˈɜːn ɐwˈeɪ ɐwˈaɪl tˈɪl ˈæbsənsᵻz klˈaʊd hɐz kˈɔːt maɪ pˈæʃən ˈʌp.