You Don’t Know Why [SSC7 Poetry Challenge]

Inspired by Emily Brontë’s haunting 19th-century poem “The Lady to Her Guitar”. Emily Brontë (1818–1848) is best known for her novel Wuthering Heights, but she was also a gifted poet whose works often explore themes of solitude, memory, and the mysterious forces of nature and emotion. One such poem is “The Lady to Her Guitar,” a melancholic reflection on music, loss, and emotional memory. In just four stanzas, Brontë captures the ghostly resonance of a guitar once played by a loved one, and how its sound continues to awaken feelings long thought buried. This song reimagines Brontë’s poem as a sparse, acoustic piece with Nordic folk undertones. What does the guitar remember? What do its strings still carry through the silence? And why does the soul still tremble long after the heart has fallen silent? ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ [Verse 1] It is as if the warm sunlight In some deep glen should lingering stay, When clouds of tempest and of night Had wrapped the parent orb away. [Verse 2] Even so, guitar, your magic tone Has moved the tear and waked the sigh, Has bid the ancient torrent flow Although its very source is dry… [Chorus] Oh, old guitar, what do you bring The ghost of sorrow or of spring? Though hearts forget, your strings still cry, Though years have passed, you don’t know why… [Post-Chorus] Mmm-hmm... You don’t know why... Mmm-hmm... You don’t know why... (Mmm...) Still you sigh You don’t know why... [Bridge] It is as if the glassy brook Still mirrored willows long gone by, Though years ago the woodman took Their gleaming hair to fade and die. [Verse 3] For him who struck your foreign string I think this heart no longer cares. Then why do you such feelings bring To my sad spirit, old guitar? [Final-Chorus] Old guitar, what do you wake A memory time could not unmake. Though silence holds the source run dry, Your notes still bleed, they still defy… [Post-Chorus] Mmm-hmm... You don’t know why... Mmm-hmm... You don’t know why... You still cry You don’t know why... [END] ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ Original Poem - The Lady to Her Guitar by Emily Brontë: For him who struck thy foreign string I ween this heart hath ceased to care; Then why dost thou such feelings bring To my sad spirit, old guitar? It is as if the warm sunlight In some deep glen should lingering stay, When clouds of tempest and of night Had wrapt the parent orb away. It is as if the glassy brook Should image still its willows fair, Though years ago, the woodman’s stroke Laid low in dust their gleaming hair. Even so, guitar thy magic tone Has moved the tear and waked the sigh, Has bid the ancient torrent flow Although its very source is dry! Copyright Information: Original poem "The Lady to Her Guitar" - Public Domain (Emily Brontë, 1818-1848) Musical arrangement and adaptation - © 2025 ThunderousSilence All rights reserved.