Here you will find the Poem From Four Till Seven of poet Marina Ivanova Tsvetaeva
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.