Herman Hesse | New York: New Directions, 1951.
First American edition, first printing. Translated by Hilda Rosner
First issue with required first issue points: No photo credit on verso of title page. "Manufactured in the United States of America by the Vail-Ballou Press, Binghamton, N.Y." stated at bottom of copyright page. Top edge tinted green. Photo printed only on the front panel of the slipcase, and does not extend around the sides, as it does in most later printings. Printed paper label pasted on back of slipcase (later issues were not pasted but incorporated into the slipcase's design). Book's cloth is mustard linen (later issues were paper, not linen, and the dimensions were slightly larger on later issues).
In the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbank near the boats, in the shade of the Sal-wood forest, in the shade of the fig tree is where Siddhartha grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman, the young falcon, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahman. The sun tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing, performing the sacred ablutions, the sacred offerings. In the mango grove, shade poured into his black eyes, when playing as a boy, when his mother sang, when the sacred offerings were made, when his father, the scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked. For a long time, Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men, practising debate with Govinda, practising with Govinda the art of reflection, the service of meditation. He already knew how to speak the Om silently, the word of words, to speak it silently into himself while inhaling, to speak it silently out of himself while exhaling, with all the concentration of his soul, the forehead surrounded by the glow of the clear-thinking spirit. He already knew to feel Atman in the depths of his being, indestructible, one with the universe.