text_original: THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME. When the ways are heavy with mire and rut, In November fogs, in December snows, When the North Wind howls, and the doors are shut, — There is place and enough for the pains of prose ; But whenever a scent from the whitethorn blows, And the jasmine stars at the casement climb, And a Jvosalind face at the lattice shows, Then hey ! for the ripple of laughing rhyme
text_transcription: THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME WHEN THE WAYS ARE HEAVY WITH MIRE AND RUT IN NOVEMBER FOGS IN DECEMBER SNOWS WHEN THE NORTH WIND HOWLS AND THE DOORS ARE SHUT THERE IS PLACE ENOUGH FOR THE PAINS OF PROSE BUT WHENEVER A SCENT FROM THE WHITE THORN BLOWS AND THE JESMINE STARS AT THE CASEMAN CLIMB AND A ROSALIND FACE AT THE LATTICE SHOWS THEN HEY FOR THE RIPPLE OF LAUGHING RHYME
phonemes: ðə bˈæləd ʌv pɹˈoʊz ænd ɹˈaɪm. wˌɛn ðə wˈeɪz ɑːɹ hˈɛvi wɪð mˈaɪɚ ænd ɹˈʌt, ɪn noʊvˈɛmbɚ fˈɑːɡz, ɪn dᵻsˈɛmbɚ snˈoʊz, wˌɛn ðə nˈɔːɹθ wˈɪnd hˈaʊlz, ænd ðə dˈɔːɹz ɑːɹ ʃˈʌt, — ðɛɹ ɪz plˈeɪs ænd ɪnˈʌf fɚðə pˈeɪnz ʌv pɹˈoʊz ; bˌʌt wɛnˌɛvɚɹ ɐ sˈɛnt fɹʌmðə wˈaɪtθɔːɹn blˈoʊz, ænd ðə dʒˈæzmɪn stˈɑːɹz æt ðə kˈeɪsmənt klˈaɪm, ænd ɐ dʒˈeɪvˈoʊzɐlˌɪnd fˈeɪs æt ðə lˈæɾɪs ʃˈoʊz, ðˈɛn hˈeɪ ! fɚðə ɹˈɪpəl ʌv lˈæfɪŋ ɹˈaɪm