John Green Reads Poetry

J: It’s been a good 2016, so far. I’ve been sick the entire time. At first, I thought I was just hungover, but it turns out I think I’m ill because I’m more like five or six days into 2016 (John, it kinda worries me you don’t know what day it is). Sooo, I think I’m just sick. 
H: Yeah, a five or six day hangover is definitely something to be concerned about.
J: Yeah, I think it would be unusual. I did overindulge on New Year’s Eve, though. We had a lovely time with friends, but, we do this annual champagne taste test, where we have a blind champagne taste test. We taste like twenty different champagnes, and we try to rank them. 
H: Uh huh.
J: And Dom Perignon, the nicest champagne, this year finished dead last. Dead last- 
H: (laughs) Let me guess.
J: Yeah. 
H: In first, was uh, was just sprite mixed with vodka. 
J: (laughs) no, that’s actually- there’s a name for that champagne, it’s called Andre, and it finished second to last just behind Don Perignon. The winner was Madame Liberte, an American sparkling wine, so there you go. Can I read you a short poem? 
H: OK. Is it about getting drunk?
J: No. It’s about hope. 
H: OK. Same thing.
J: This is by Emily Dickinson.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –

And sings the tune without the words –

And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –

And sore must be the storm –

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –

And on the strangest Sea –

Yet – never – in Extremity,

It asked a crumb – of me.