text_original: Now gird thee well for courage, My knight of twenty year, Against the marching morrows That fill the world with fear! The flowers fade before them; The summer leaves the hill; Their trumpets range the morning, And those who hear grow still.
text_transcription: NOW GIRD THEE WELL FOR COURAGE MY NIGHT OF TWENTY YEAR AGAINST THE MARCHING MORROWS THAT FILL THE WORLD WITH FEAR THE FLOWERS FADE BEFORE THEM THE SUMMER LEAVES THE HILL THEIR TRUMPETS RANGE THE MORNING AND THOSE WHO HEAR GROW STILL
phonemes: nˈaʊ ɡˈɜːd ðiː wˈɛl fɔːɹ kˈɜːɹɪdʒ, maɪ nˈaɪt ʌv twˈɛnti jˈɪɹ, ɐɡˈɛnst ðə mˈɑːɹtʃɪŋ mˈɑːɹoʊz ðæt fˈɪl ðə wˈɜːld wɪð fˈɪɹ! ðə flˈaʊɚz fˈeɪd bᵻfˈɔːɹ ðˌɛm; ðə sˈʌmɚ lˈiːvz ðə hˈɪl; ðɛɹ tɹˈʌmpɪts ɹˈeɪndʒ ðə mˈɔːɹnɪŋ, ænd ðoʊz hˌuː hˈɪɹ ɡɹˈoʊ stˈɪl.