text_original: Soft is the matutinal mist Through which the trees loom brown; Come back, if only to be kist,   Come back to Town! For evermore, in days like these, When musing on your face, My sad imagination sees Another in my place.
text_transcription: SOFT AS THE MATUTINAL MIST THROUGH WHICH THE TREES LOOM BROWN COME BACK IF ONLY TO BE KISSED COME BACK TO TOWN FOR EVER MORE IN DAYS LIKE THESE WHEN MUSING ON YOUR FACE MY SAD IMAGINATION SEES ANOTHER IN MY PLACE
phonemes: sˈɔft ɪz ðə mˈæɾuːtˌɪnəl mˈɪst θɹuː wˌɪtʃ ðə tɹˈiːz lˈuːm bɹˈaʊn; kˈʌm bˈæk, ɪf ˈoʊnli təbi kˈɪst,   kˈʌm bˈæk tə tˈaʊn! fɔːɹ ˌɛvɚmˈɔːɹ, ɪn dˈeɪz lˈaɪk ðˈiːz, wˌɛn mjˈuːzɪŋ ˌɔn jʊɹ fˈeɪs, maɪ sˈæd ɪmˌædʒᵻnˈeɪʃən sˈiːz ɐnˈʌðɚɹ ɪn maɪ plˈeɪs.