Classic Poem

There are several things that trouble one's age,
 And work for a man much woe,
Such as gout,—and doubt,—debts that will run,
 And rhyme that will not flow.
But when all has been said, do we not most dread,
 Of the many bores that we know.
That ubiquitous ban, the woman or man
 Who knew one “ages ago”?

In youth—you were young, and foolish perhaps;
 You flirted with high and with low,
Had one love on the hill, and one down by the mill,
 Yet never were wicked, ah, no!

And this friend knew you in a far-away way,
 In a way that was only so so,
Just enough to give hue to the cry about you:
 “Oh, I knew him ages ago!”

You are married now and quite circumspect;
 Your pace, like your speech, is slow.
You tell in a bank, keep silent in church,
 Are one it is proper to know;
But this vigilant friend will never consent
 That your virtues unchallenged shall go,
Though she never demurs, but only avers
 That she knew you “ages ago.”

And sure I am that if ever I win
 To the place where I hope to go,
To sit among saints, perhaps the chief,
 In raiment as white as snow,
Before me and busy among the blest—
 Perhaps in the self-same row—
I shall find my ban, this woman or man
 Who knew me “ages ago.”

And shall hear the voice I so oft have heard—
 A voice neither sweet nor low—
As it whispers still with an accent shrill
 The refrain that so well I know:
“Oh, you need n't be setting much store by him;
 This new angel 's not much of a show.
He may fool some saint who is n't acquaint;
 But I knew him ages ago.”