text_original: But still my song is of those sunny days When Love was with me in those quiet ways. And unto him who turns the page to see That day's short story, haply it may be, The joy of those old memories he feels: As one who through the wintry twilight steals, And sees, across the chilly wastes of snow, The darkened sunset's rosy afterglow.
text_transcription: BUT STILL MY SONG IS OF THOSE SUNNY DAYS WHEN LOVE WAS WITH ME IN THOSE QUIET WAYS AND UNTO HIM WHO TURNS THE PAGE TO SEE THAT DAY'S SHORT STORY HAPLY IT MAY BE THE JOY OF THOSE OLD MEMORIES HE FEELS AS ONE WHO THROUGH THE WINTRY TWILIGHT STEALS AND SEES ACROSS THE CHILLY WASTES OF SNOW THE DARKENED SUNSET'S ROSY AFTERGLOW
phonemes: bˌʌt stˈɪl maɪ sˈɔŋ ɪz ʌv ðoʊz sˈʌni dˈeɪz wɛn lˈʌv wʌz wɪð mˌiː ɪn ðoʊz kwˈaɪət wˈeɪz. ænd ˌʌntʊ hˌɪm hˌuː tˈɜːnz ðə pˈeɪdʒ tə sˈiː ðæt dˈeɪz ʃˈɔːɹt stˈɔːɹi, hˈæpli ɪt mˈeɪ bˈiː, ðə dʒˈɔɪ ʌv ðoʊz ˈoʊld mˈɛmɚɹiz hiː fˈiːlz: æz wˈʌn hˌuː θɹuː ðə wˈɪntɹi twˈaɪlaɪt stˈiːlz, ænd sˈiːz, əkɹˌɑːs ðə tʃˈɪli wˈeɪsts ʌv snˈoʊ, ðə dˈɑːɹkənd sˈʌnsɛts ɹˈoʊzi ˈæftɚɡlˌoʊ.