Edward Shanks sketches a familiar kind of lover: a young man who treats romance as wandering. Wild ducks migrate together, but this man walks alone and refuses to be tied down by any woman’s sorrow. One moment his head rests on a woman’s breast in blossoming spring; before the apples ripen in autumn, he has already left. He goes singing through the valley, looking for a new rose in every road and alley.
The speaker then asks the young women why they keep offering their affection to someone who takes everything and leaves them grieving. There is wistfulness here, and a touch of bitterness—less a direct complaint than an old, knowing sadness. The mood feels lyrical and folk-like, but also melancholy: love is sweet, brief, and always followed by departure.