text_original: Age is too weary for the butterflies   Spring's rainbow radiance fluttering through sweet skies, Hope merrily deferred. We see the morn, We who are old, in shattered fragments. Scorn For laughter and for singing clouds our breast.
text_transcription: AGE IS TOO WEARY FOR THE BUTTERFLIES SPRING'S RAINBOW RADIANCE FLUTTERING THROUGH SWEET SKIES HOPE MERRILY DEFERRED WE SEE THE MORN WE WHO ARE OLD IN SHATTERED FRAGMENTS SCORN FOR LAUGHTER AND FOR SINGING CLOUDS OUR BREAST
phonemes: ˈeɪdʒ ɪz tˈuː wˈɪɹi fɚðə bˈʌɾɚflˌaɪz spɹˈɪŋz ɹˈeɪnboʊ ɹˈeɪdiəns flˈʌɾɚɹɪŋ θɹuː swˈiːt skˈaɪz, hˈoʊp mˈɛɹili dᵻfˈɜːd. wiː sˈiː ðə mˈɔːɹn, wiː hˌuː ɑːɹ ˈoʊld, ɪn ʃˈæɾɚd fɹˈæɡmənts. skˈɔːɹn fɔːɹ lˈæftɚ ænd fɔːɹ sˈɪŋɪŋ klˈaʊdz ˌaʊɚ bɹˈɛst.