“… And I who am here dissembled / Proffer my deeds to oblivion…”
(T.S. Eliot, from “Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree,” in Ash-Wednesday.)
“Dissembled” here seems to be intended to suggest “disassembled,” since the bones of the speaker lie strewn about the tree.
The message of the poem seems to be: the deeds of a mortal, once done, are done and finished. They are offered up for judgement, which decides the fate of the immortal soul, and then over time the deeds, and the mortal who did them, will be forgotten. It is foolish to seek immortality on earth. No deed will, ultimately, stand the test of time.
And yet the speaker speaks on. I think this might be the “dissembling” that is happening: the speaker speaks of forgetting, of being nothing, and yet continues to say “I”. The speaker is not quite committed to the idea of becoming nothing, and furtively continues to hope for a more mundane form of immortality than is promised by Christianity. Eliot can’t but hope that, by contributing to the literary tradition through his poems, he will earn a form of immortality on Earth.
Lee Watkins 
Might he not have used a capital O for ‘oblivion’ in that case, as if it was a god of some kind who could decide if he had done enough to earn immortality? The small ‘o’ suggests to me he might be thinking of nothingness, that all his efforts have been in vain or temporary. Just an idle thought on a windy, wet day.
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Yes, I think it’s uncertain whether his deeds become nothing or in fact can have some eternal meaning. Hence Eliot’s perpetual attitude of uncertainty, which we see in so much of his writing
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