text_original: Many things I thought of, sitting there, till the sun sank below the moor line, the wind died off the clover, and the midges slept. Here and there in the iris coloured sky a star crept out; the soft hooting owls awoke. But still I lingered, watching how, one after another, shapes and colours died into twilight; and I wondered what the postman thought of twilight, that inconvenient state, when things were neither dark nor light; and I wondered what the sheep were thinking this first night without their coats.
text_transcription: MANY THINGS I THOUGHT OF SITTING THERE TILL THE SUN SANK BELOW THE MOOR LINE THE WIND DIED OFF THE CLOVER AND THE MIDGES SLEPT HERE AND THERE IN THE IRIS COLORED SKY A STAR CREPT OUT THE SOFT HOOTING OWLS AWOKE BUT STILL I LINGERED WATCHING HOW ONE AFTER ANOTHER SHAPES AND COLOURS DIED INTO TWILIGHT AND I WONDERED WHAT THE POSTMAN THOUGHT OF TWILIGHT THAT INCONVENIENT STATE WHEN THINGS WERE NEITHER DARK NOR LIGHT AND I WONDERED WHAT THE SHEEP WERE THINKING THIS FIRST NIGHT WITHOUT THEIR COATS
phonemes: mˈɛni θˈɪŋz aɪ θˈɔːt ʌv, sˈɪɾɪŋ ðˈɛɹ, tˈɪl ðə sˈʌn sˈæŋk bᵻlˌoʊ ðə mˈʊɹ lˈaɪn, ðə wˈɪnd dˈaɪd ˈɔf ðə klˈoʊvɚ, ænd ðə mˈɪdʒᵻz slˈɛpt. hˈɪɹ ɐnd ðˈɛɹ ɪnðɪ ˈaɪɹɪs kˈʌlɚd skˈaɪ ɐ stˈɑːɹ kɹˈɛpt ˈaʊt; ðə sˈɔft hˈuːɾɪŋ ˈaʊlz ɐwˈoʊk. bˌʌt stˈɪl aɪ lˈɪŋɡɚd, wˈɑːtʃɪŋ hˈaʊ, wˈʌn ˈæftɚɹ ɐnˈʌðɚ, ʃˈeɪps ænd kˈʌlɚz dˈaɪd ˌɪntʊ twˈaɪlaɪt; ænd aɪ wˈʌndɚd wʌt ðə pˈoʊstmən θˈɔːt ʌv twˈaɪlaɪt, ðæt ɪŋkənvˈiːnɪənt stˈeɪt, wˌɛn θˈɪŋz wɜː nˈiːðɚ dˈɑːɹk nˈɔːɹ lˈaɪt; ænd aɪ wˈʌndɚd wʌt ðə ʃˈiːp wɜː θˈɪŋkɪŋ ðɪs fˈɜːst nˈaɪt wɪðˌaʊt ðɛɹ kˈoʊts.