text_original: Upon his cheeks   Is it the streaks Of rain, as now the old porch creaks Beneath his stride? Then, warm and wide, The door flings and she's at his side   "Mother!"
text_transcription: UPON HIS CHEEKS IS IT THE STREAKS OF RAIN AS NOW THE OLD PORCH CREAKS BENEATH HIS STRIDE THEN WARM AND WHITE THE DOOR FLINGS AND SHE'S AT HIS SIDE MOTHER
phonemes: əpˌɑːn hɪz tʃˈiːks ɪz ɪt ðə stɹˈiːks ʌv ɹˈeɪn, æz nˈaʊ ðɪ ˈoʊld pˈɔːɹtʃ kɹˈiːks bᵻnˌiːθ hɪz stɹˈaɪd? ðˈɛn, wˈɔːɹm ænd wˈaɪd, ðə dˈɔːɹ flˈɪŋz ænd ʃiːz æt hɪz sˈaɪd   "mˈʌðɚ!"