text_original: But we may sing of fair and sunny days, Of Love that walks in peace through quiet ways; And unto him who turns the page to see Our simple story, haply it may be As when in some mild day in early spring, One through the budding woods goes wandering; And finds, where late the snow has blown across, Beneath the leaves, a violet in the moss.
text_transcription: BUT WE MAY SING OF FAIR AND SUNNY DAYS OF LOVE THAT WALKS IN PEACE THROUGH QUIET WAYS AND UNTO HIM WHO TURNS THE PAGE TO SEE OUR SIMPLE STORY HAPLY IT MAY BE AS WHEN IN SOME MILD DAY IN EARLY SPRING ONE THROUGH THE BUDDING WOODS GOES WANDERING AND FINDS WHERE LATE THE SNOW HAS BLOWN ACROSS BENEATH THE LEAVES A VIOLET IN THE MOSS
phonemes: bˌʌt wiː mˈeɪ sˈɪŋ ʌv fˈɛɹ ænd sˈʌni dˈeɪz, ʌv lˈʌv ðæt wˈɔːks ɪn pˈiːs θɹuː kwˈaɪət wˈeɪz; ænd ˌʌntʊ hˌɪm hˌuː tˈɜːnz ðə pˈeɪdʒ tə sˈiː ˌaʊɚ sˈɪmpəl stˈɔːɹi, hˈæpli ɪt mˈeɪ biː æz wɛn ɪn sˌʌm mˈaɪld dˈeɪ ɪn ˈɜːli spɹˈɪŋ, wˈʌn θɹuː ðə bˈʌdɪŋ wˈʊdz ɡoʊz wˈɔndɚɹɪŋ; ænd fˈaɪndz, wˌɛɹ lˈeɪt ðə snˈoʊ hɐz blˈoʊn əkɹˈɑːs, bᵻnˌiːθ ðə lˈiːvz, ɐ vˈaɪəlɪt ɪnðə mˈɔs.