“It fell upon a little western flower,
Before, milk-white, now purple with love’s wound,
And maidens call it ‘love-in-idleness.’ ”
– A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act II, Scene 1
This quaint conceit reminds us of the hour
when maidens could identify a flower.
Today, that blossom would remain unknown
unless the maid could find it on her phone.
There was a time when any country lass,
reclining at her ease on country grass,
could name a dozen blooms, and as she lay
bestow on each a charming sobriquet.
But while each modern maiden understands
the meaning of at least one hundred brands,
and corporate logos without number, she
will stammer at the naming of a tree.
So progress goes. We seldom get to choose
what we might gain against what we might lose.
And all of us might ask as we progress
what’s lost by losing love-in-idleness.