text_original: Sickles ring, Maidens sing To the sickle's sound; Till the moon is beaming, And the stubble gleaming, Harvest songs go round. THE SEASONS. 151 All are springing, All are singing, Every lisping thing, Man and master meet, From one dish they eat ; Each is now a king. Hans and Michael Whet the sickle, Piping merrily.
text_transcription: SICKLES RING MAIDENS SING TO THE SICKLED SOUND TILL THE MOON IS BEAMING AND THE STUBBLE GLEAMING HARVEST SONGS GO ROUND ALL ARE SPRINGING ALL ARE SINGING EVERY LISPING THING MAN AND MASTER MEET FROM ONE DISH THEY EAT EACH IS NOW A KING HANS AND MICHEL WET THE SICKLE PIPING MERRILY
phonemes: sˈɪkəlz ɹˈɪŋ, mˈeɪdənz sˈɪŋ tə ðə sˈɪkəlz sˈaʊnd; tˈɪl ðə mˈuːn ɪz bˈiːmɪŋ, ænd ðə stˈʌbəl ɡlˈiːmɪŋ, hˈɑːɹvɪst sˈɔŋz ɡˌoʊ ɹˈaʊnd. ðə sˈiːzənz. wˈʌnhˈʌndɹɪd fˈɪfti wˈʌn ˈɔːl ɑːɹ spɹˈɪŋɪŋ, ˈɔːl ɑːɹ sˈɪŋɪŋ, ˈɛvɹi lˈɪspɪŋ θˈɪŋ, mˈæn ænd mˈæstɚ mˈiːt, fɹʌm wˈʌn dˈɪʃ ðeɪ ˈiːt ; ˈiːtʃ ɪz nˈaʊ ɐ kˈɪŋ. hˈænz ænd mˈaɪkəl wˈɛt ðə sˈɪkəl, pˈaɪpɪŋ mˈɛɹili.