A First Edition

I USED to try to hide myself
From eyes that searched along my shelf,
So much I dreaded being read —
Remembering what the printers said
When, after I was finely bound,
Someone glancing through me found
A typographical mistake.
Such a commotion did it make
(Although it really was but slight —
Inverted vowels in ‘neophyte’),
I thought the blemish must be great,
And brooded sadly on my fate.
Yet for many years I heard
No more about the misspelled word.
And then one day a bibliophile,
Far-famed for his collecting zeal,
While hunting for some rare old book,
Gave me a long appraising look.
He took me down; I wondered why.
Suppose that error caught his eye —
He’d close me quickly in disdain
And put me on the shelf again.
A moment, and his eyes were dwelling
Upon that one mistake in spelling. . . .
Needless fear! The thing was not
A blemish, but a beauty spot,
A point ensuring my position —
I am a cherished first edition.