text_original: A certain Sunday morning, I remember, broke with a cloud flecked sky, and as we were preparing to go afield with such ploughs as could be got together (we were to sow turnips) the loud sounds of a quarrel came from the elm at the spring.
text_transcription: A CERTAIN SUNDAY MORNING I REMEMBER BROKE WITH A CLOUD FLECKED SKY AND AS WE WERE PREPARING TO GO AFIELD WITH SUCH PLOUGHS AS COULD BE GOT TOGETHER WE WERE TO SOW TURNIPS THE LOUD SOUNDS OF A QUARREL CAME FROM THE ELM AT THE SPRING
phonemes: ɐ sˈɜːʔn̩ sˈʌndeɪ mˈɔːɹnɪŋ, aɪ ɹᵻmˈɛmbɚ, bɹˈoʊk wɪð ɐ klˈaʊd flˈɛkt skˈaɪ, ænd æz wiː wɜː pɹɪpˈɛɹɪŋ tə ɡˌoʊ ɐfˈiːld wɪð sˈʌtʃ plˈaʊz æz kʊd biː ɡɑːt təɡˈɛðɚ (wiː wɜː tə sˈoʊ tˈɜːnɪps) ðə lˈaʊd sˈaʊndz əvə kwˈɔːɹəl kˈeɪm fɹʌmðɪ ˈɛlm æt ðə spɹˈɪŋ.