text_original: The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses Her dark flowing hair for some festival day, Will think of thy fate till, neglecting her tresses, She mournfully turns from the mirror away.
text_transcription: THE YOUNG VILLAGE MAID WHEN WITH FLOWERS SHE DRESSES HER DARK FLOWING HAIR FOR SOME FESTIVAL DAY WILL THINK OF THY FATE TILL NEGLECTING HER TRESSES SHE MOURNFULLY TURNS FROM THE MIRROR AWAY
phonemes: ðə jˈʌŋ vˈɪlɪdʒ mˈeɪd, wˌɛn wɪð flˈaʊɚz ʃiː dɹˈɛsᵻz hɜː dˈɑːɹk flˈoʊɪŋ hˈɛɹ fɔːɹ sˌʌm fˈɛstɪvəl dˈeɪ, wɪl θˈɪŋk ʌv ðˌaɪ fˈeɪt tˈɪl, nᵻɡlˈɛktɪŋ hɜː tɹˈɛsᵻz, ʃiː mˈɔːɹnfəli tˈɜːnz fɹʌmðə mˈɪɹɚɹ ɐwˈeɪ.