Excerpt from The Magic Flute, Die Zauberflote: An Opera in Two Acts
Pop. The fowler comes, in spite of rain, And sings his songs in merry strain; This merry fowler, too, is known By young and old, from zone to zone. Knows how to whistle every sound That birds may sing the whole year round. Oh. None can be more blithe than I, With these sweet warblers of the sky.
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