text_original: Dawn had passed, the birds were at morning music. Down there in the garden her flowers were meshed with the grey dew, and the trees were grey, spun with haze; dim and spectrelike, the old hunter, with his nose on the paddock rail, dozed in the summer mist.
text_transcription: DAWN HAD PASSED THE BIRDS WERE AT MORNING MUSIC DOWN THERE IN THE GARDEN HER FLOWERS WERE MESHED WITH THE GRAY DEW AND THE TREES WERE GREY SPUN WITH HAZE DIM AND SCEPTRE LIKE THE OLD HUNTER WITH HIS NOSE ON THE PADDOCK RAIL DOZED IN THE SUMMER MIST
phonemes: dˈɔːn hæd pˈæst, ðə bˈɜːdz wɜːɹ æt mˈɔːɹnɪŋ mjˈuːzɪk. dˌaʊn ðɛɹ ɪnðə ɡˈɑːɹdən hɜː flˈaʊɚz wɜː mˈɛʃt wɪððə ɡɹˈeɪ dˈuː, ænd ðə tɹˈiːz wɜː ɡɹˈeɪ, spˈʌn wɪð hˈeɪz; dˈɪm ænd spˈɛktɚlˌaɪk, ðɪ ˈoʊld hˈʌntɚ, wɪð hɪz nˈoʊz ɔnðə pˈædək ɹˈeɪl, dˈoʊzd ɪnðə sˈʌmɚ mˈɪst.