These nights

[wot_i_wrote]

These nights are called Lost Evenings:
They that survive these nights, and come safe home,
will stand on tip-toe when these nights are named,
and rouse them at the name of Camden.
They that live this night, and see old age,
will yearly on the vigil feast their neighbours,
and say "Tomorrow's Lost Evenings!"
Then will they strip their sleeves, and show their ink,
and say, "These marks I had on Camden days."

Old ones forget; yet all shall be forgot,
but they'll remember with advantages
what feats they do tonight. Then shall these names —
  Frank the King, Nigel, Benjamin,
  Matt and Tarrant, all the Sleeping Souls —
be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the agèd teach the young,
and Lost Evenings shall ne'er go by
from this day to the ending of the world
but we in it shall be remember'd:
we few, we happy few, we band of comrades.
For they tonight that shed their sweat with me
shall be my comrades, be they ne'er so vile:
this night shall gentle their condition.

And music fans in England now abed
shall think themselves accursed they were not here
and hold their fandom cheap while any speaks
that danced with us upon Lost Evenings.