From a Press Room

I must go up to Hanover When Spring is green. Lilac days will be coming now; Buds will burst on the startled bough. Oh! the air sweeps clean, Clean from the star-set mountain pine, Whispering air with a hint of wine; And the river song Drones from the piers of the covered bridge, That rots on the road to Norwich ridge, All day long.

I must go up to Hanover When Spring returns. There I'll find, for my heart's release, Night like a purple dream of peace, While the Dipper burns, Tilting, far to the North away, Pouring peace for another day Here the presses fill Every hour with an endless whirr; But there, on the hills of Hanover, Night lies still.