text_original: Sweet is the swallow twittering on the eaves At daybreak, when the mower whets his scythe, And stock doves murmur, and the milkmaid leaves Her little lonely bed, and carols blithe To see the heavy lowing cattle wait Stretching their huge and dripping mouths across the farmyard gate.
text_transcription: SWEET IS THE SWALLOW TWITTERING ON THE EAVES AT DAYBREAK WHEN THE MOA WETS HIS SCYTHE AND STOCK DOVES MURMUR AND THE MILKMAID LEAVES HER LITTLE LONELY BED AND CAROLS BLITHE TO SEE THE HEAVY LOWING CATTLE WAIT STRETCHING THEIR HUGE AND DRIPPING MOUTHS ACROSS THE FARMYARD GATE
phonemes: swˈiːt ɪz ðə swˈɔloʊ twˈɪɾɚɹɪŋ ɔnðɪ ˈiːvz æt dˈeɪbɹeɪk, wˌɛn ðə mˈoʊɚ wˈɛts hɪz sˈaɪð, ænd stˈɑːk dˈʌvz mˈɜːmɚ, ænd ðə mˈɪlkmeɪd lˈiːvz hɜː lˈɪɾəl lˈoʊnli bˈɛd, ænd kˈæɹəlz blˈaɪð tə sˈiː ðə hˈɛvi lˈoʊɪŋ kˈæɾəl wˈeɪt stɹˈɛtʃɪŋ ðɛɹ hjˈuːdʒ ænd dɹˈɪpɪŋ mˈaʊðz əkɹˌɑːs ðə fˈɑːɹmjɑːɹd ɡˈeɪt.