text_original: And to Coleridge he writes: 'I feel that I shall remember your mountains to the last day I live. They haunt me perpetually.' All this Lamb saw and felt, because no beautiful thing could ever appeal to him in vain. But he wrote of it only in his letters, which were all of himself; because he put into his published writings only the best or the rarest or the accustomed and familiar part of himself, the part which he knew by heart.
text_transcription: AND TO COOLERIDGE HE WRITES I FEEL THAT I SHALL REMEMBER YOUR MOUNTAINS TO THE LAST DAY I LIVE THEY HAUNT ME PERPETUALLY ALL THIS LAMB SAW AND FELT BECAUSE NO BEAUTIFUL THING COULD EVER APPEAL TO HIM IN VAIN BUT HE WROTE OF IT ONLY IN HIS LETTERS WHICH WERE ALL OF HIMSELF BECAUSE HE PUT INTO HIS PUBLISHED WRITINGS ONLY THE BEST OR THE RAREST OF THE ACCUSTOMED AND FAMILIAR PART OF HIMSELF THE PART WHICH HE KNEW BY HEART
phonemes: ænd tə kˈoʊlɹɪdʒ hiː ɹˈaɪts: aɪ fˈiːl ðæt aɪʃˌɐl ɹᵻmˈɛmbɚ jʊɹ mˈaʊntɪnz tə ðə lˈæst dˈeɪ aɪ lˈɪv. ðeɪ hˈɔːnt mˌiː pɚpˈɛtʃuːəli.ˈɔːl ðɪs lˈæm sˈɔː ænd fˈɛlt, bɪkˈʌz nˈoʊ bjˈuːɾifəl θˈɪŋ kʊd ˈɛvɚɹ ɐpˈiːl tə hˌɪm ɪn vˈeɪn. bˌʌt hiː ɹˈoʊt ʌv ɪɾ ˈoʊnli ɪn hɪz lˈɛɾɚz, wˌɪtʃ wɜːɹ ˈɔːl ʌv hɪmsˈɛlf; bɪkˈʌz hiː pˌʊt ˌɪntʊ hɪz pˈʌblɪʃt ɹˈaɪɾɪŋz ˈoʊnli ðə bˈɛst ɔːɹ ðə ɹˈɛɹɪst ɔːɹ ðɪ ɐkˈʌstəmd ænd fəmˈɪlɪɹ pˈɑːɹt ʌv hɪmsˈɛlf, ðə pˈɑːɹt wˌɪtʃ hiː nˈuː baɪ hˈɑːɹt.