One version collected by Sharp is given with sheet music in his "One Hundred English Folksongs," 1916, reprinted by Dover, pp. 58-59.
In the notes, Sharp says: "The singer [not named!] varied his tune, which is in the Dorian mode, in a very remarkable way, a good example of the skill with which folksingers will alter their tune to fit various metrical irregularities in the words..." "For particulars of the custom of wearing ribands to denote betrothal or marriage, see 'ribands" in Hazlitt's Dictionary of Faiths and Folk-Lore."
Malcolm has provided the background and linked the variants of this peculiar song. The lyrics below are those given by Sharp.

Lyr. Add: THE TREES THEY DO GROW HIGH
"Collected and arranged by Cecil J. Sharp"

1. The trees they do grow high, and the leaves they do grow green;
But the time is gone and past, my Love, that you and I have seen.
It's a cold winter's night, my Love, when you and I must bide alone.
The bonny lad was young, but a-growing.-

2. O father, dear father,, I fear you've done me harm,
You've married me to a bonny boy, but I fear he is too young.
O daughter, dearest daughter, but if you stay at home with me
A Lady you shall be, while he's growing.-

3. We'll send him to the college for one year or two,
And then perhaps in time, my Love, a man he may grow,
I will buy you white ribbons to tie about his bonny waist,
To let the ladies know that he's married.

4. At the age of sixteen O he was a married man,
At the age of seventeen He was the father of a son,
At the age of eighteen, my Love, his grave it was a-growing green,
And so she saw the end of his growing.-

5. I made my love a shroud of the holland, O so fine,
And ev'ry stitch I put in it the tears came trinkling down;
And I will sit and mourn his fate until the day that I shall die,
And watch all o'er his child while it's growing.

6. O now my Love is dead and in his grave doth lie,
The green grass that's over him it groweth up so high.
O once I had a sweetheart, but now I have got never a one,
So fare you well, my own true Love, for growing.-
So fare you well, my own true Love, for growing.-
So fare you well, my own true Love, forever.