text_original: Fair are the silent foldings of his robes, Falling with saintly calmness to his feet; And when he walks, each floweret to his will With living pulse of sweet accord doth beat. Every green leaf thrills to its tender heart, In the mild summer radiance of his eye; No fear of storm, or cold, or bitter frost, Shadows the flowerets when their sun is nigh.
text_transcription: FAIR ARE THE SILENT FOLDINGS OF HIS ROBES FALLING WITH SAINTLY CALMNESS TO HIS FEET AND WHEN HE WALKS EACH FLOWER TO HIS WILL WITH LIVING PULSE OF SWEET ACCORD DOES BEAT EVERY GREEN LEAF THRILLS TO ITS TENDER HEART IN THE MILD SUMMER RADIANCE OF HIS EYE NO FEAR OF STORM OR COLD OR BITTER FROST SHADOWS THE FLOWERS WHEN THEIR SUN IS NIGH
phonemes: fˈɛɹ ɑːɹ ðə sˈaɪlənt fˈoʊldɪŋz ʌv hɪz ɹˈoʊbz, fˈɔːlɪŋ wɪð sˈeɪntli kˈɑːmnəs tə hɪz fˈiːt; ænd wɛn hiː wˈɔːks, ˈiːtʃ flˈaʊɚɹət tə hɪz wɪl wɪð lˈɪvɪŋ pˈʌls ʌv swˈiːt ɐkˈɔːɹd dʌθ bˈiːt. ˈɛvɹi ɡɹˈiːn lˈiːf θɹˈɪlz tʊ ɪts tˈɛndɚ hˈɑːɹt, ɪnðə mˈaɪld sˈʌmɚ ɹˈeɪdiəns ʌv hɪz ˈaɪ; nˈoʊ fˈɪɹ ʌv stˈɔːɹm, ɔːɹ kˈoʊld, ɔːɹ bˈɪɾɚ fɹˈɔst, ʃˈædoʊz ðə flˈaʊɚɹəts wɛn ðɛɹ sˈʌn ɪz nˈaɪ.