text_original: Oh, joy of the dying! At last thou art mine. And leaping to meet thee, Impatient to greet thee, A rapid and rapturous, sensitive, fine Gayety steals through my pulses to day, Daring and doubting like pleasure Forbidden, or Winter looking at May. Oh, sorrow of living! Make way for the thrill Of the soul that is starting   Onlooking  departing Across the threshold of clay.
text_transcription: O JOY OF THE DYING AT LAST THOU ART MINE AND LEAPING TO MEET THEE IMPATIENT TO GREET THEE A RAPID AND RAPTUROUS SENSITIVE FINE GAIETY STEALS THROUGH MY PULSES TO DAY DARING AND DOUBTING LIKE PLEASURE FORBIDDEN OR WINTER LOOKING AT ME O SORROW OF LIVING MAKE WAY FOR THE THRILL OF THE SOUL THAT IS STARTING ON LOOKING DEPARTING ACROSS THE THRESHOLD OF CLAY
phonemes: ˈoʊ, dʒˈɔɪ ʌvðə dˈaɪɪŋ! æt lˈæst ðˈaʊ ˈɑːɹt mˈaɪn. ænd lˈiːpɪŋ tə mˈiːt ðˈiː, ɪmpˈeɪʃənt tə ɡɹˈiːt ðˈiː, ɐ ɹˈæpɪd ænd ɹˈæptʃɚɹəs, sˈɛnsᵻtˌɪv, fˈaɪn ɡˈeɪɪɾi stˈiːlz θɹuː maɪ pˈʌlsᵻz tə dˈeɪ, dˈɛɹɪŋ ænd dˈaʊɾɪŋ lˈaɪk plˈɛʒɚ fɚbˈɪdən, ɔːɹ wˈɪntɚ lˈʊkɪŋ æt mˈeɪ. ˈoʊ, sˈɑːɹoʊ ʌv lˈɪvɪŋ! mˌeɪk wˈeɪ fɚðə θɹˈɪl ʌvðə sˈoʊl ðæt ɪz stˈɑːɹɾɪŋ ˈɑːnlʊkɪŋ dᵻpˈɑːɹɾɪŋ əkɹˌɑːs ðə θɹˈɛʃoʊld ʌv klˈeɪ.