text_original: Again, and again, and again, I saw with the eyes of memory, in fragmentary fashion, the grand form of the fisherman standing in a blaze of gold, and later fighting his way through a still sea of gold, of which the only reliefs were the scattered piles of black rock and the pale face patched with blood.
text_transcription: AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN I SAW WITH THE EYES OF MEMORY IN FRAGMENTARY FASHION THE GRAND FORM OF THE FISHERMAN STANDING IN A BLAZE OF GOLD AND LATER FIGHTING HIS WAY THROUGH A STILL SEA OF GOLD OF WHICH THE ONLY RELEASE WERE THE SCARRED PILES OF BLACK ROCK AND THE PALE FACE PATCHED WITH BLOOD
phonemes: ɐɡˈɛn, ænd ɐɡˈɛn, ænd ɐɡˈɛn, aɪ sˈɔː wɪððɪ ˈaɪz ʌv mˈɛmɚɹi, ɪn fɹæɡmˈɛntɚɹi fˈæʃən, ðə ɡɹˈænd fˈɔːɹm ʌvðə fˈɪʃɚmən stˈændɪŋ ɪn ɐ blˈeɪz ʌv ɡˈoʊld, ænd lˈeɪɾɚ fˈaɪɾɪŋ hɪz wˈeɪ θɹuː ɐ stˈɪl sˈiː ʌv ɡˈoʊld, ʌvwˈɪtʃ ðɪ ˈoʊnli ɹᵻlˈiːfs wɜː ðə skˈæɾɚd pˈaɪlz ʌv blˈæk ɹˈɑːk ænd ðə pˈeɪl fˈeɪs pˈætʃt wɪð blˈʌd.