text_original: Though crowds should woo thy staying, Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy friends, though dear, Compensate for the grief thy long delaying Costs the fond heart that sighs to have thee here? Linger not long. How shall I watch thy coming, As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and dell; When the wild bee hath ceased her busy humming, And silence hangs on all things like a spell!
text_transcription: THOUGH CROWDS SHOULD WOO THY STAYING BETHINK THEE CAN THE MIRTH OF THY FRIENDS THOUGH DEAR COMPENSATE FOR THE GRIEF THY LONG DELAYING COSTS THE FOND HEART THAT SIGHS TO HAVE THEE HERE LINGER NOT LONG HOW SHALL I WATCH THY COMING AS EVENING SHADOWS STRETCH OVER MORN DELL WHEN THE WILD BEE HAS CEASED HER BUSY HUMMING AND SILENCE HANGS ON ALL THINGS LIKE A SPELL
phonemes: ðˌoʊ kɹˈaʊdz ʃˌʊd wˈuː ðˌaɪ stˈeɪɪŋ, bˈɛθɪŋk ðˈiː, kæn ðə mˈɜːθ ʌv ðˌaɪ fɹˈɛndz, ðˌoʊ dˈɪɹ, kˈɑːmpənsˌeɪt fɚðə ɡɹˈiːf ðˌaɪ lˈɔŋ dᵻlˈeɪɪŋ kˈɔsts ðə fˈɑːnd hˈɑːɹt ðæt sˈaɪz tə hæv ðiː hˈɪɹ? lˈɪŋɡɚ nˌɑːt lˈɔŋ. hˌaʊ ʃˌæl aɪ wˈɑːtʃ ðˌaɪ kˈʌmɪŋ, æz ˈiːvnɪŋ ʃˈædoʊz stɹˈɛtʃ ˈɔːɹ mˈʊɹ ænd dˈɛl; wˌɛn ðə wˈaɪld bˈiː hæθ sˈiːst hɜː bˈɪzi hˈʌmɪŋ, ænd sˈaɪləns hˈæŋz ˌɔn ˈɔːl θˈɪŋz lˈaɪk ɐ spˈɛl!