text_original: Sorrows I 've had, severe ones, I will not think of now; And calmly, midst my dear ones, Have wasted with dry brow; But when thy fingers press And pat my stooping head, I cannot bear the gentleness, — The tears are in their bed.
text_transcription: SORROWS I'VE HAD SEVERE ONES I WILL NOT THINK OF NOW AND CALMLY MIDST MY DEAR ONES HAVE WASTED WITH DRY BROW BUT WHEN THY FINGERS PRESS AND PET MY STOOPING HEAD I CANNOT BEAR THE GENTLENESS THE TEARS ARE IN THEIR BED
phonemes: sˈɑːɹoʊz aɪ vˈiː hˌæd, sᵻvˈɪɹ wˌʌnz, aɪ wɪl nˌɑːt θˈɪŋk ʌv nˈaʊ; ænd kˈɑːmli, mˈɪdst maɪ dˈɪɹ wˌʌnz, hæv wˈeɪstᵻd wɪð dɹˈaɪ bɹˈaʊ; bˌʌt wɛn ðˌaɪ fˈɪŋɡɚz pɹˈɛs ænd pˈæt maɪ stˈuːpɪŋ hˈɛd, aɪ kænˈɑːt bˈɛɹ ðə dʒˈɛntəlnəs, — ðə tˈɪɹz ɑːɹ ɪn ðɛɹ bˈɛd.