Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages

In Short

This collection acts as a carefully curated gallery of the poetic imagination, spanning centuries of English and American verse alongside ancient nursery rhymes and folk songs. The book follows the quiet, contemplative journey of a young boy who discovers a mysterious house—Thrae—in a hidden valley, which serves as a vessel for a vast library of poems. By framing these selections through the boy’s awakening to beauty, wonder, and sorrow, the work suggests that poetry is not a static artifact, but a living, breathing landscape. It has lasted because it treats the reader as a fellow traveler, encouraging a close, searching engagement with words that are capable of transforming the mundane world into something strange and luminous.

The Story

The story begins with a boy who, in his restless wanderings, discovers a stone house in a remote hollow. This house, inscribed with the fading name Thrae, becomes a singular obsession. He returns to it constantly, watching it shift its appearance like a chameleon under the changing light of storms, snow, and moonlight. Inside this house, or perhaps within the vast, imagined space the house represents, he finds a collection of rhymes and poems—a volume that becomes his constant companion.

Through his eyes, we move from the simple, rhythmic comfort of nursery jingles to the haunting, complex melodies of classical poetry. He learns that a poem is a vessel; it can carry the reader into another mind, into the past, or into a world entirely made anew. He learns to parse the "secrets" hidden within plain words, discovering how a line about sailors on a blue sea can stay with a person for a lifetime, grounding them in a reality that feels more vivid than their own physical surroundings.

The arc of the book is not one of linear plot, but of deepening perception. As the boy grows, the nature of the poetry he encounters shifts. He moves from the light, playful cadence of folk songs and tales about birds and garden-states to the sobering, autumnal tones of loss and memory. He experiences the "drear-nighted December" of the soul, where the inevitability of change and the sting of grief become clear. He encounters poems of tragic beauty, like those lamenting the "Flowers of the Forest," and others that grapple with the weight of time, like the image of a ship lost at sea on Christmas morning.

The journey reaches its culmination in a mature acceptance of these cycles. The poems become increasingly focused on the "shadows" of existence—the loss of loved ones, the passage of youth, and the way even the most "stately palaces" of thought can be assailed by evil or discordant realities. Yet, the story does not end in despair. It ends in a quiet, observant grace. The boy, now grown, retains the ability to "notice such things"—the way the May month flaps its leaves, or the quiet beauty of a garden primrose—long after the initial rush of youth has passed. He finds that the "incantation" of verse serves as a bridge, allowing him to link the simple, innocent songs of his childhood with the sophisticated, often painful realizations of his later years. The house remains a symbol of the mind itself, a place that is "one little room an everywhere," where the past and present reside in a permanent, shimmering dialogue.

How It Unfolds

The discovery of the valley The boy stumbles upon the house in the hollow, a place that feels simultaneously alien and hauntingly familiar. This threshold moment marks the beginning of his transition from a casual observer of nature to a deliberate seeker of hidden meanings.

The threshold of the house He identifies the house as Thrae, a structure that changes its form to match the weather of his own spirit. Here, he begins the practice of "searching out" the secrets contained in the poems he finds, treating every stanza as a room to be explored.

The apprenticeship to rhythm The reader is guided through the nursery rhymes and folk songs that form the bedrock of the boy’s education. These sections demonstrate how simple language functions as a talisman, carrying the echoes of countless generations of voices.

The deepening of the imagination The focus shifts to more complex poets and deeper themes, mirroring the boy’s maturation. He learns that a poem can be a "vision" that provides a sanctuary from the world, while simultaneously acknowledging the reality of suffering and "adversity."

The acceptance of the shadows The final movement faces the inevitable decay of all things—youth, beauty, and even the poets themselves. The boy concludes his journey with a reflective grace, recognizing that the ability to truly "notice" the small, transient details of the world is the ultimate reward of a life spent in the company of poetry.

The People

The central figure is the unnamed Boy, whose primary desire is to make sense of the vast, dreamlike world he encounters. He is characterized by a "natural stupidity," as he calls it, which is actually a profound, humble patience. He stands in his own way by initially expecting the world to be simple, but he ends up changed, possessing a soul that can "glide" into the boughs of his own imagination to find rest.

Mr. Nahum appears as the curator of the boy’s internal landscape, the mysterious owner of the book that houses these poems. He is not a literal teacher but a guide whose choices—the way he pairs poems with specific, often somber images—challenge the boy to realize that a poem may have as many meanings as there are minds to receive them.

The various figures found within the poems themselves—the "fine old English gentleman," the "sprightly youth" who appears from a tower, and the "proud Barbara Allen"—act as archetypal companions. They represent the different faces of human experience: the tragic, the joyful, and the steadfast. The boy interacts with them not as historical figures, but as living presences, finding in their "talk" a reflection of his own life’s trajectory from innocence to the understanding of grief.

In Its Own Voice

The boy discovers that the simplest phrasing can possess a haunting, transformative power, as he realizes when reflecting on a nursery jingle about the sea:

They are plain and common words, but their order here is the poem's only, and the effect they had on me, and still have, is different from the effect of any other words on the same subject.

He eventually understands that the true work of the reader is an act of creation, where the mind becomes the canvas for the poet’s imagery:

That is one of the pleasures of reading--you may make any picture out of the words you can and will; and a poem may have as many different meanings as there are different minds.

What It's Really About

At its core, this is a meditation on the nature of memory and the way we construct our internal world. It argues that the imagination is not an escape from reality, but a way of deepening one's presence within it. The book asks whether we can ever truly possess the beauty we see, or if, like the evening primrose, it exists in a state of constant blooming and fading, dependent on our capacity to witness it. It posits that the "secret singing" of the world is always present for those who learn to listen, but that this listening requires a willingness to dwell in both the light of the garden and the shadows of the house. It is a defense of the "rare friend"—the reader who is patient enough to let a poem unfold its full, secret meaning.

Why Read It Today

This book is for the reader who feels the modern world moves too quickly to allow for the contemplation of a single blade of grass. Reading it feels like sitting in a quiet, sun-dappled room where the only sound is the turning of pages and the distant, rhythmic clashing of bells from a sunken city. It is a deeply immersive, atmospheric experience that rewards a slow, deliberate pace.

However, a reader should be prepared for the book's demands. It does not provide the immediate gratification of a conventional narrative; it is a collage of voices, ranging from archaic, dialect-heavy Scots to the polished sonnets of the English tradition. Its period attitudes are embedded in its structure, reflecting a time when the classical education of the poet was assumed. Some readers may find the inclusion of so many tragic or sorrowful poems—lamenting the loss of children or the "death" of youth—to be heavy-handed or melancholic. There are moments where the archaic language of the ballads may require a sustained effort to parse, though the text provides helpful, often charming glossaries to bridge these gaps.

Ultimately, what stays with you is the sense of having been invited into a legacy. It reminds you that your own voice, your own "shadow," is part of a long, human conversation that stretches back to the earliest tribal songs. It leaves you with the quiet, persistent feeling that if you stop to notice the light on a pebble or the way the evening shadows steal across the sky, you are participating in the same wonder that has sustained dreamers for centuries.