text_original: Death tramples on the roses; Death comes in, Though Love, with outstretched arms and wings outspread, Would bar the way  poor Love, whose wings begin To droop, half torn as are the roses dead Already at his feet  but Death must win, And Love grows faint beneath that ponderous tread!
text_transcription: DEATH TRAMPLES ON THE ROSES DEATH COMES IN THOUGH LOVE WITH OUTSTRETCHED ARMS AND WINGS OUTSPREAD WOULD BARD AWAY POOR LOVE WHOSE WINGS BEGIN TO DROOP HALF TORN AS OTHER ROSES DEAD ALREADY AT HIS FEET BUT DEATH MUST WIN AND LOVE GROWS FAINT BENEATH THAT PONDEROUS TREAD
phonemes: dˈɛθ tɹˈæmpəlz ɔnðə ɹˈoʊzᵻz; dˈɛθ kˈʌmz ˈɪn, ðˌoʊ lˈʌv, wɪð aʊtstɹˈɛtʃt ˈɑːɹmz ænd wˈɪŋz aʊtspɹˈɛd, wʊd bˈɑːɹ ðə wˈeɪ pˈʊɹ lˈʌv, hˌuːz wˈɪŋz bɪɡˈɪn tə dɹˈuːp, hˈæf tˈɔːɹn æz ɑːɹ ðə ɹˈoʊzᵻz dˈɛd ɔːlɹˌɛdi æt hɪz fˈiːt bˌʌt dˈɛθ mˈʌst wˈɪn, ænd lˈʌv ɡɹˈoʊz fˈeɪnt bᵻnˌiːθ ðæt pˈɑːndɚɹəs tɹˈɛd!