A polite disguise for ruin

Pray, look not long upon this borrowed cheer, This practiced light I wear to quiet the room; For though it smiles, it was not fashioned here— It blooms above a most unbreathing gloom. I greet the day with courteous, gentle art, A softened voice, a gaze that feigns delight, Yet all the while—God witness to my heart— I wander hollow corridors of night. What once was warm now settles into dust, A ruin dressed in ribbons, neat and fair; I laugh because I must, because I must— Not that a living joy abideth there. O strange estate! to flourish thus in show, Whilst inwardly all tender things decay; To wear the rose, yet feel no root below, And charm the world whilst quietly giving way. If tears would come, they might restore me some, Yet even grief hath wearied of my breast; So still I smile—though I am near to none, A pleasant ghost, in civility well-dressed. And shouldst thou praise the brightness in mine eyes, Know this: it is but light that fails to stay— A fleeting gleam where something dearer lies… Long since undone, and carried far away.