text_original: TO THE BELOVED Beloved, when the tides of life run low As sobbing echoes of a dead refrain, And I may sit and watch the silent rain And muse upon the fulness of my woe, Then is my burden lighter, for I know The roses of my heart shall bloom again The fairer for this plenitude of pain, And Summer shall forget the chilly snow.
text_transcription: TO THE BELOVED BELOVED WHEN THE TIDES OF LIFE RUN LOW AS SOBBING ECHOES OF A DEAD REFRAIN AND I MAY SIT AND WATCH THE SILENT RAIN AND MUSE UPON THE FULNESS OF MY WOE THEN IS MY BURDEN LIGHTER FOR I KNOW THE ROSES OF MY HEART SHALL BLOOM AGAIN THE FAIRER FOR THIS PLENITUDE OF PAIN AND SUMMER SHALL FORGET THE CHILLY SNOW
phonemes: tuː ðə bᵻlˈʌvd bᵻlˈʌvd, wˌɛn ðə tˈaɪdz ʌv lˈaɪf ɹˈʌn lˈoʊ æz sˈɑːbɪŋ ˈɛkoʊz əvə dˈɛd ɹᵻfɹˈeɪn, ænd aɪ mˈeɪ sˈɪt ænd wˈɑːtʃ ðə sˈaɪlənt ɹˈeɪn ænd mjˈuːz əpˌɑːn ðə fˈʌlnəs ʌv maɪ wˈoʊ, ðˈɛn ɪz maɪ bˈɜːdən lˈaɪɾɚ, fɔːɹ aɪ nˈoʊ ðə ɹˈoʊzᵻz ʌv maɪ hˈɑːɹt ʃˌæl blˈuːm ɐɡˈɛn ðə fˈɛɹɚ fɔːɹ ðɪs plˈɛnɪtˌuːd ʌv pˈeɪn, ænd sˈʌmɚ ʃˌæl fɚɡˈɛt ðə tʃˈɪli snˈoʊ.