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, an if you stay at home and wait along of me,
A lady you shall be while he's growing.”
“We'll send the boy to school for another year or so
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.”
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, the grass upon his grave grew green and long
For death had put to an end to his growing.
I made my love a shroud of the holland oh so fine
And every stitch she put in it, the tears came 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 grass it grows 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.
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