All summer long she touched me,

She gathered in my soul
From many a thorn, from many a thicket -
Her fingers like a weaver's, quick and cool.

And the light came from her body,
And the night went through her grace.
All summer long she touched me,
And I knew her, I knew her face to face.

And her dress was blue and silver,
And her words were few and small.
She is the vessel of the whole wide world -
Mistress, oh mistress of us all!

Dear Lady, Queen of Solitude,
I thank you with my heart
For keeping me so close to thee
While so many, oh so many stood apart.

Leonard Cohen
1979