In the history of artists who praise nature,
Gerard Manley Hopkins stands out from the crowd. There are two conventional approaches to appreciating nature. The first is to be so bowled over that you can't say anything at all: "Did you see that sunset!? Like…I can't…it's so….wow!" The second is to appreciate nature only insofar as it seems like a nice, organized system: "I love trees that are symmetrical and evenly spaced, waterfalls that fit perfectly on the mountainside, and even the way a snail's shell makes a perfect spiral."
Hopkins takes a different approach. He eloquently loves nature for its quirks, the way you might love someone for his or her big ears. Many writers who glorify nature try to make the world more orderly and manageable than it really is. Rather than ignoring the off-kilter parts of reality, Hopkins zooms right in on them. He would walk into your house and say something like, "Hey, I love how your picture looks a little crooked. Nice work." And you would wonder if he were kidding. But you would soon realize that, no, he is not.
Much of "Pied Beauty" focuses on spots, dots, and speckles in particular. These are the "pied" things from the title. We typically think of spots as our enemy. We have spot removers for our clothes, and when we clean a room really well we call it "spotless." For Hopkins, "spotless" would be a sad state – if it were possible. Fortunately, the word is an exaggeration – a figure of speech. For just when you think you have every last speck of dust cleaned from a room, a ray of sunlight will suddenly come down through the window, lighting up all the tiny floating specks in the air, and you'll be frozen with wonder. You might even say to yourself, "Hey, I could write a poem about this."