text_original: The old dreams are beautiful, beloved, soft toned, and sure, But the dream stuff is molten and moving mysteriously, Alluring my eyes; for I, am I not also dream stuff, Am I not quickening, diffusing myself in the pattern, shaping and shapen?
text_transcription: THE OLD DREAMS ARE BEAUTIFUL BELOVED SOFT TONED AND SURE BUT THE DREAM STUFF IS MOLTEN AND MOVING MYSTERIOUSLY ALLURING MY EYES FOR I AM I NOT ALSO DREAM STUFF AM I NOT QUICKENING DIFFUSING MYSELF IN THE PATTERN SHAPING AND SHAPEN
phonemes: ðɪ ˈoʊld dɹˈiːmz ɑːɹ bjˈuːɾifəl, bᵻlˈʌvd, sˈɔft tˈoʊnd, ænd ʃˈʊɹ, bˌʌt ðə dɹˈiːm stˈʌf ɪz mˈoʊltən ænd mˈuːvɪŋ mɪstˈɪɹiəsli, ɐlˈʊɹɹɪŋ maɪ ˈaɪz; fɔːɹ ˈaɪ, æm aɪ nˌɑːt ˈɔːlsoʊ dɹˈiːm stˈʌf, æm aɪ nˌɑːt kwˈɪkənɪŋ, dᵻfjˈuːzɪŋ maɪsˈɛlf ɪnðə pˈætɚn, ʃˈeɪpɪŋ ænd ʃˈeɪpən?