Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva (8 October 1892 – 31 August 1941 / Moscow)
From Four Till Seven
Like in a mirror, there's shade in the heart
I'm bored alone - and with men…
Slowly drags the light of the day
From four till seven!
Everybody is cruel in the dusk,
Don't go to people - they'll lie.
Fingers have wound into a knot
The kerchief. I want to cry.
Only don't torture me so,
If you hurt me I'll forgive!
From four till seven o'clock
I endlessly grieve.
Comments about this poem (From Four Till Seven by Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings