On Finding Out that the One You Slept with the Night Before Was Murdered the Next Day

I GO about dumbfoundedly, and show a dullard's glance,
But in my mind are spangles, and music and a dance,—
Tra-la, the hid romance!

And I suspect, O brothers (and sisters, drab and prim),
'Tis quite the same with all of you, with every her and him
That goes in masking-trim.

The whole world hides the truth; and, faith, it is a parlous shame
To make a pale-faced misery of such a glorious game,—
With all of us to blame.

So let us be like mummers who grin and lift their lays
And kick their heels at heaven a hundred happy ways,
Sky-larking down the days!
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