text_original: Thou art fair as the hills at morning. And the sunshine loveth thee. But its light is a gloom of warning On a soul no longer free.
text_transcription: THOU ART FAIR AS THE HILLS AT MORNING AND THE SUNSHINE LOVERS THEE BUT ITS LIGHT IS A GLOOM OF WARNING ON A SOUL NO LONGER FREE
phonemes: ðˈaʊ ˈɑːɹt fˈɛɹ æz ðə hˈɪlz æt mˈɔːɹnɪŋ. ænd ðə sˈʌnʃaɪn lˈʌvəθ ðˈiː. bˌʌt ɪts lˈaɪt ɪz ɐ ɡlˈuːm ʌv wˈɔːɹnɪŋ ˌɔn ɐ sˈoʊl nˌoʊ lˈɑːŋɡɚ fɹˈiː.