text_original: Sailing thus, as thought doth steer, With the moon through cloud and clear, Fancy flutt'ring at the prow, Sirens singing soft and low, From the opal shores and streams, Where they dye the cloth of dreams— From the present and the past Have I touched the land at last!
text_transcription: SAILING THUS AS THOUGHT DOTH STEER WITH THE MOON THROUGH CLOUD AND CLEAR FANCY FLUTTERING AT THE PROW SIRENS SINGING SOFT AND LOW FROM THE OPAL SHORES AND STREAMS WHERE THEY DIE THE CLOTH OF DREAMS FROM THE PRESENT AND THE PAST HAVE I TOUCHED THE LAND AT LAST
phonemes: sˈeɪlɪŋ ðˈʌs, æz θˈɔːt dʌθ stˈɪɹ, wɪððə mˈuːn θɹuː klˈaʊd ænd klˈɪɹ, fˈænsi flˈʌtɹɪŋ æt ðə pɹˈaʊ, sˈaɪɹənz sˈɪŋɪŋ sˈɔft ænd lˈoʊ, fɹʌmðɪ ˈoʊpəl ʃˈɔːɹz ænd stɹˈiːmz, wˌɛɹ ðeɪ dˈaɪ ðə klˈɔθ ʌv dɹˈiːmz— fɹʌmðə pɹˈɛzənt ænd ðə pˈæst hæv aɪ tˈʌtʃt ðə lˈænd æt lˈæst!