The trees they do grow high and the leaves they do grow green,
The day is past and gone, my love, that you and I have seen.
It's a cold winter's night, my love, when you and I must lie alone.
The bonny lad is young but he's growing.
"Oh father, dearest father, you've done to me great wrong,
You married me a boy and I fear he is too young."
"Oh daughter, dearest daughter, and if you stay at home and wait along with me,
A lady you shall be while he's growing."
"We'll send him to the college, all for a year or two,
And then perhaps in time, my love, a man he may grow.
I will buy you a bunch of white ribbons to tie about his bonny, bonny waist
To let the ladies know that he's married."
And so early in the morning at the dawning of the day,
They went out into the hayfield to have some sport and play,
And what they did there she never would declare,
But she never more complained of his growing.
At the age of sixteen, oh, he was a married man,
And at the age of seventeen she brought to him a son.
At the age of eighteen, my love, oh his grave was growing green
And so she put to an end to his growing.
I made my love a shroud of the holland oh so fine
And every stich she put in it, the tears come trinkling down.
Oh once I had a sweetheart but now I have got never a one,
So fare you well my own true love forever.
Now he is dead and buried and in the churchyard laid
The green gra** is all over him so very, very thick
Oh once I had a sweetheart but now I have got never a one,
So fare you well my own true love forever.