search voice for singing this song "the trees they grow high"

[Jean Pierre]

search a voice for this England medieval song
" the trees they growing high"
I put in cover two different versions of this song
John Renbourn's instrumental version based on Martin Carthy's sung version https://songcrafters.org/forum/index.php?topic=30682.0

and the version sung with two different melodies Donovan for the first and Pentangle for the second.https://songcrafters.org/forum/index.php?topic=30696.0
..a female voice would be perfect for this beautiful song...unfortunately there are not many girls on SC...
In the cover I did the first 3 verses in the Donovan version and the 4 verses according to the Pentangle version, Joan Baez etc...

this song is too long for my poor french accent

he trees they grow high,
the leaves they do grow green
Many is the time my true love I've seen
Many an hour I have watched him all alone
He's young,
but he's daily growing.

Father, dear father,
you've done me great wrong
You have married me to a boy who is too young
I'm twice twelve and he is but fourteen
He's young,
but he's daily growing.

Daughter, dear daughter,
I've done you no wrong
I have married you to a great lord's son
He'll be a man for you when I am dead and gone
He's young,
but he's daily growing.

Father, dear father, if you see fit
We'll send him to college for another year yet
I'll tie blue ribbons all around his head
To let the maidens know that he's married.

One day I was looking o'er my father's castle wall
I spied all the boys a-playing at the ball
My own true love was the flower of them all
He's young, but he's daily growing.

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 fourteen, he was a married man
At the age of fifteen, the father of a son
At the age of sixteen, his grave it was green
Have gone, to be wasted in battle.
And death had put an end to his growing.

I'll buy my love some flannel
and I will make a shroud
With every stitch I put in it,
the tears they will pour down
With every stitch I put in it,
how the tears will flow
Cruel fate has put an end to his growing.