text_original: YOUTH IF I must die, The earth is inarticulate to sing The dirge I crave : The sorrow of the murmur laden wave, The sea born wind complaining 'neath the sky, And round my head the waters' silver ring.
text_transcription: YOUTH IF I MUST DIE THE EARTH IS INARTICULATE TO SING THE DIRGE I CRAVE THE SORROW OF THE MURMUR LAID IN WAVE THE SEA BORN WIND COMPLAINING NEATH THE SKY AND ROUND MY HEAD THE WATER'S SILVER RING
phonemes: jˈuːθ ɪf aɪ mˈʌst dˈaɪ, ðɪ ˈɜːθ ɪz ɪnɑːɹtˈɪkjʊlˌeɪt tə sˈɪŋ ðə dˈɜːdʒ aɪ kɹˈeɪv : ðə sˈɑːɹoʊ ʌvðə mˈɜːmɚ lˈeɪdən wˈeɪv, ðə sˈiː bˈɔːɹn wˈɪnd kəmplˈeɪnɪŋ nˈiːθ ðə skˈaɪ, ænd ɹˈaʊnd maɪ hˈɛd ðə wˈɔːɾɚz sˈɪlvɚ ɹˈɪŋ.