text_original: O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river; Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. INLAND WATERS: HIGHLANDS. 211 THE LA
text_transcription: O LOVE THEY DIE IN YON RICH SKY THEY FAINT ON HILL OR FIELD OR RIVER OUR ECHOES ROLL FROM SOUL TO SOUL AND GROW FOREVER AND FOR EVER BLOW BUGLE BLOW SET THE WILD ECHOES FLYING AND ANSWER ECHOES ANSWER DYING DYING DYING END OF POEM THE DISRECORDING IS IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN
phonemes: ˈoʊ lˈʌv, ðeɪ dˈaɪ ɪn jˈɑːn ɹˈɪtʃ skˈaɪ, ðeɪ fˈeɪnt ˌɔn hˈɪl ɔːɹ fˈiːld ɔːɹ ɹˈɪvɚ; ˌaʊɚɹ ˈɛkoʊz ɹˈoʊl fɹʌm sˈoʊl tə sˈoʊl, ænd ɡɹˈoʊ fɚɹˈɛvɚ ænd fɚɹˈɛvɚ. blˈoʊ, bjˈuːɡəl, blˈoʊ, sˈɛt ðə wˈaɪld ˈɛkoʊz flˈaɪɪŋ, ænd ˈænsɚ, ˈɛkoʊz, ˈænsɚ, dˈaɪɪŋ, dˈaɪɪŋ, dˈaɪɪŋ ˈælfɹɪd, lˈɔːɹd tˈɛnɪsən. ˈɪnlənd wˈɔːɾɚz: hˈaɪləndz. tˈuːhˈʌndɹɪd ɪlˈɛvən ðɪ ˌɛlˈeɪ