Praise for dappled things

All tasks have a soundtrack.  I am continuing to stitch Hazel's spots and there is verse running on a repeated loop in my head.

Glory be to God for dappled things -

   For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;

      For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;

   Landscape plotted and pieced -- fold, fallow, and plough;

      And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;

   Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

      With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

                                Praise him.

I am not sure if poems find the situation or if they shape it.  Regardless, 'Pied Beauty', from the lovely mind of Gerard Manley Hopkins, is keeping me company.

I know the 'trout' reference is triggering the recollection.  Still, I should think on this poem more often.  Dappled things are beautiful and those that are strange enough, get collected or admiringly built into a new composition.

--- like a pheasant, soon to be flies and objets d'whatever.