text_original: The clouds are all gold and glory, like a regiment goin' oot to the battle. But bide ye till the sun drops, not only below the horizon but beyond the angle o' refraction. Then what see ye?
text_transcription: THE CLOUDS ARE ALL GOLDEN GLORY LIKE A REGIMENT GOING OUT TO BATTLE BUT BID THEE TILL THE SUN DROPS NOT ONLY BELOW THE HORIZON BUT BEYOND THE ANGLE OF REFRACTION THEN WHAT SEE YE
phonemes: ðə klˈaʊdz ɑːɹ ˈɔːl ɡˈoʊld ænd ɡlˈɔːɹi, lˈaɪk ɐ ɹˈɛdʒɪmənt ɡˌoʊɪn ˈuːt tə ðə bˈæɾəl. bˌʌt bˈaɪd jiː tˈɪl ðə sˈʌn dɹˈɑːps, nˌɑːt ˈoʊnli bᵻlˌoʊ ðə hɚɹˈaɪzən bˌʌt bᵻjˌɔnd ðɪ ˈæŋɡəl ˈoʊ ɹᵻfɹˈækʃən. ðˈɛn wʌt sˈiː jˈiː?