text_original: My Love, thy heart is like a prayer To one who, dying at the gates of morn, Stirless, in splendid effort and great scorn, Sends forth his soul to meet the last despair.
text_transcription: MY LOVE THY HEART IS LIKE A PRAYER TO ONE WHO DYING AT THE GATES OF MORN STIRLESS IN SPLENDID EFFORT AND GREAT SCORN SENDS FORTH HIS SOUL TO MEET THE LAST DESPAIR
phonemes: maɪ lˈʌv, ðˌaɪ hˈɑːɹt ɪz lˈaɪk ɐ pɹˈɛɹ tə wˈʌn hˈuː, dˈaɪɪŋ æt ðə ɡˈeɪts ʌv mˈɔːɹn, stˈɜːləs, ɪn splˈɛndɪd ˈɛfɚt ænd ɡɹˈeɪt skˈɔːɹn, sˈɛndz fˈɔːɹθ hɪz sˈoʊl tə mˈiːt ðə lˈæst dᵻspˈɛɹ.