Giacomo Leopardi composed his immortal verses of L’infinito on worksheets in minute elegant writing. To admire it exactly two centuries later is an intense experience. It is as though someone dear to us, and definitely wiser than us, had unveiled a secret that we cannot fully understand – all we can do is clutch at straws in an attempt to comprehend it. The poet wrote L’infinito in 1819 and we do not know if this was in spring or, more likely, in autumn. What we do know is that it was the worst year of his life: months of despair and quasi-blindness where he could not think, failures and atrocious solitude. Yet, Leopardi had the immense ability to split his personality. Despite the misfortunes he suffered, L'infinito does not betray the slightest trace of pain: kindness and tenderness triumph and raise us up in pure ecstatic joy. Bliss abandons itself passively to nothingness, the undefined, and happily pervades our soul for one unbelievably calm moment.