Composer : Leonard Bernstein

Dear boy, you will not hear me speak

With sorrow or with rancor

Of what has shrivelled up my cheek

And blasted it with canker;

Twas Love, great Love, that did the deed,

Through Nature's gentle laws,

And how should ill effects proceed

From so divine a cause?

Sweet honey comes from bees that sting,

As you are well aware;

To one adept in reasoning,

Whatever pains disease may bring

Are but the tangy seasoning

To Love's delicious fare.

Sweet honey comes from bees that sting.

Columbus and his men, they say,

Conveyed the virus hither,

Whereby my features rot away

And vital powers wither;

Yet had they not traversed the seas

And come infected back,

Why, think of all the luxuries

That modern life would lack!

All bitter things conduce to sweet,

As this example shows;

Without the little spirochete,

We'd have no chocolate to eat

Nor would tobacco's fragrance greet

The European nose.

ll bitter things conduce to sweet.

Each nation guards its native land

With cannon and with sentry,

Inspectors look for contraband

At every point of entry,

Yet nothing can prevent the spread

Of Love's divine disease;

It rounds the world from bed to bed

As pretty as you please.

Men worship Venus everywhere,

As may be plainly seen;

Her decorations which I bear

Are nobler than the croix de guerre,

And gained in service of our fair

And universal Queen.Dear boy.

Men worship Venus everywhere.Dear boy!