text_original: Terrible difference between ideas and truth ; wonderful magic of the unreal to take their sting from the veritable wounds we en  dure ! Neither rose nor laurel will we lay reverently for remembrance over the tomb where .you sleep ; but the flower that was always your own, the wild, dry heather.
text_transcription: TERRIBLE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN IDEAS AND TRUTH WONDERFUL MAGIC OF THE UNREAL TO TAKE THEIR STING FROM THE VERITABLE WOUNDS WE ENDURE NEITHER ROSE NOR LAUREL WILL WE LAY REVERENTLY FOR REMEMBRANCE OVER THE TOMB WHERE YOU SLEEP BUT THE FLOWER THAT WAS ALWAYS YOUR OWN THE WILD DRY HEATHER
phonemes: tˈɛɹᵻbəl dˈɪfɹəns bᵻtwˌiːn aɪdˈiəz ænd tɹˈuːθ ; wˈʌndɚfəl mˈædʒɪk ʌvðɪ ʌnɹˈiːəl tə tˈeɪk ðɛɹ stˈɪŋ fɹʌmðə vˈɛɹɪɾəbəl wˈuːndz wiː ˈɛn dˈʊɹ ! nˈiːðɚ ɹˈoʊz nˈɔːɹ lˈɔːɹəl wɪl wiː lˈeɪ ɹˈɛvɚɹəntli fɔːɹ ɹᵻmˈɛmbɹəns ˌoʊvɚ ðə tˈuːm wˈɛɹ .juː slˈiːp ; bˌʌt ðə flˈaʊɚ ðæt wʌz ˈɔːlweɪz jʊɹ ˈoʊn, ðə wˈaɪld, dɹˈaɪ hˈɛðɚ.