The trees they do grow high, the leaves they do grow green,
The time is long past, love, you and I have seen.
It's a cold winter's night when you and I must bide alone,
Though my bonny lad is young he's a-growing, growing,
Though my bonny lad is young he's a-growing.

"O father, dear father, you've done me much wrong;
You've married me to a boy who I fear is much too young.'
"O daughter, O daughter, if you stay at home with me,
A lady you shall be while he's growing, growing,
A lady you shall be while he's growing.'

"We'll send him to college for one year or two.'
"Perhaps then my love to a man he will grow.'
"I'll buy you white ribbons to tie round his bonny waist,
So the ladies shall know that he's married, married,
So the ladies shall know that he's married.'

At the age of sixteen he was a married man,
At seventeen the father of a son;
At the age of eighteen, his grave was a-growing green,
So she saw the end of his growing, growing,
So she saw the end of his growing.

I made my love a shroud of the holland, oh so fine,
And every stitch I put in it the tears came trickling down;
And I'll mourn his fate until the day I die,
But I'll watch o'er his child while it's growing, growing,
But I'll watch o'er his child while it's growing.

Now my love is dead, in his grave he doth lie;
The grass that's all o'er him it groweth so high.
Once I had a sweetheart but now I've never a one;
Fare you well, my own true love, for growing, growing,
Fare you well, my own true love, for growing.