text_original: This is the hour of ghosts that rise;   Line on line of the noiseless dead   The clouds above are their awning spread; Look into the shadow with moon dazed eyes, You will see the writhing of limbs in pain, And the whole red tragedy over again.
text_transcription: THIS IS THE HOUR OF GHOSTS THAT RISE LINE ON LINE OF THE NOISELESS DEAD THE CLOUDS ABOVE ARE THEIR AWNING SPREAD LOOK INTO THE SHADOW WITH MOON DAZED EYES YOU WILL SEE THE WRITHING OF LIMBS IN PAIN AND THE WHOLE RED TRAGEDY OVER AGAIN
phonemes: ðɪs ɪz ðɪ ˈaʊɚɹ ʌv ɡˈoʊsts ðæt ɹˈaɪz;   lˈaɪn ˌɔn lˈaɪn ʌvðə nˈɔɪzləs dˈɛd ðə klˈaʊdz əbˌʌv ɑːɹ ðɛɹ ˈɔːnɪŋ spɹˈɛd; lˈʊk ˌɪntʊ ðə ʃˈædoʊ wɪð mˈuːn dˈeɪzd ˈaɪz, juː wɪl sˈiː ðə ɹˈaɪðɪŋ ʌv lˈɪmz ɪn pˈeɪn, ænd ðə hˈoʊl ɹˈɛd tɹˈædʒədi ˌoʊvɚɹ ɐɡˈɛn.