'Twas the night before book hunt, when all through the stacks,
Not a catalog rustled in leather-bound racks;
The want list was perched on my desk with great care,
In hopes that a plated Elder soon would be there.

The collectors were nestled, each dreaming in kind,
Of Mehl circulars rare and the treasures they'd find;
And I with my loupe (for spotting plate flaws),
Had settled with Chapman sales bound in morocco-emboss.

When out in the hallway there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from my reading to see what was the matter;
Away to the doorway I flew with a start-
Perhaps a new mailing from Kolbe & Fanning, sweet art!

The moon on the gilt of my catalog rows
Gave a shimmer like proofs struck in long-vanished shows;
When what to my bibliophilic joy should appear,
But a parcel of reprints I'd forgotten was near.

With dog-eared old indices soft-worn and tight,
I knew in a moment these tomes were just right;
More rapid than bidders at Bangs in full flight,
I murmured each title I craved at first sight.

"Now Attinelli! Maris! Now Strobridge and Clapp!
On Gobrecht engravings! On Maris's rare map!
To the top of the want list! The top of the pile!
Now shelve away, shelve away-grin all the while!"