WELCOME TO THE LYRIC POETRY WEBSITE




A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,

WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC




THE TREES THEY DO GROW HIGH

The trees they do grow high, and the leaves they do grow green.
Many is the time my true love Ive seen.
Many an hour Ive watched him all alone.
Hes young, but hes daily growing.

Father, dear father, youve done me great wrong.
Youve married me to a boy who is too young.
I am twice twelve, and he is but fourteen.
Hes young, but hes daily growing.

Daughter, dear daughter, Ive done you no wrong.
Ive married you to a brave Lords son.
Hell be a man to you when I am dead and gone.
Hes young, but hes daily growing.

Father, dear father, if you see fit,
Well send my love to college for one year yet.
Tie the blue ribbons all around his head,
To let the ladies know that hes married.

One day I was looking oer my fathers castle wall,
Saw all the boys a-playing at the ball.
My own true love was the flower of them all.
Hes young, but hes daily growing.

At the age of fourteen he was a married man.
Age of fifteen the father of a son.
Age of sixteen on his grave the cross was green.
Cruel death had put an end to his growing.

Ill make my love a shroud of the finest Holland brown.
Every stitch I put in it, the tears come trickling down.
Once I had a true love, but now Ive neer one,
But Ill watch oer his son while hes growing.

Traditional English



See Table of Contents See Previous Go to next page