Seems to echo from the boundless, soundless deep.
But the breaking of the billows—the billows as they leap,
Makes the silence of my sorrow with them weep;
While the echoes of the grottoes—the grottoes wildly start,
Ever throbbing to the music of my heart;—
Throbbing to the threnode,
Rocking to the rhythm,
Moaning to the music of my heart,—
Threnode throbbing ever,
Rhythm rocking ever,