(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.

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Other poems of MARINA IVANOVNA TSVETAEVA (29)

Comments (16)

CONGRATULATIONS Classic POD
" Grieve" of love and life! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Beautiful lines.. Everybody is cruel in the dusk, Don't go to people - they'll lie. Fingers have wound into a knot Thanks poet.
During the interval of four to seven the day runs downhill, sloping toward night. It is hard to have a new beginning during this time of day. She realizes that she has fallen into a pattern in her relations with men. Her men-friends are flawed individuals who lash out at her.
Very penetrating! Great!
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