text_original: "There must be pleasure in dying, sweet, To make you so placid from head to feet! "I would tell you, darling, if I were dead, And 'twere your hot tears upon my brow shed,   "I would say, though the angel of death had laid His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid.
text_transcription: THERE MUST BE PLEASURE IN DYING SWEET TO MAKE YOU SO PLACID FROM HEAD TO FEET I WOULD TELL YOU DARLING IF I WERE DEAD AND WERE YOUR HOT TEARS UPON MY BROW SHED I WOULD SAY THOUGH THE ANGEL OF DEATH HAD LAID HIS SWORD ON MY LIPS TO KEEP IT UNSAID
phonemes: "ðɛɹ mˈʌst biː plˈɛʒɚɹ ɪn dˈaɪɪŋ, swˈiːt, tə mˌeɪk juː sˌoʊ plˈæsɪd fɹʌm hˈɛd tə fˈiːt! "aɪ wʊd tˈɛl juː, dˈɑːɹlɪŋ, ɪf aɪ wɜː dˈɛd, ænd twˈɪɹ jʊɹ hˈɑːt tˈɪɹz əpˌɑːn maɪ bɹˈaʊ ʃˈɛd,   "aɪ wʊd sˈeɪ, ðˌoʊ ðɪ ˈeɪndʒəl ʌv dˈɛθ hæd lˈeɪd hɪz sˈɔːɹd ˌɔn maɪ lˈɪps tə kˈiːp ɪɾ ʌnsˈɛd.