A Riddle

I MADE myself, and though no form have I,
Am fairer than the fairest you can spy;
The sun I outshine in his mid-day light,
And yet am darker than the darkest night;
Hotter I am than fire, than ice more cold,
Richer than purest gems or finest gold,
Yet I am never either bought or sold;
The man that wants me, never yet was seen;
The poor alone possess me; yet the mean
And grudging rich oft give me to the poor,
Who yet are not made richer than before;
The blindest see me, and the deafest hear,
Cowards defy me, and the bravest fear:
If you're a fool, you know me; if you grow
In knowledge, me you will soon cease to know.

Now catch me if you can — I'm sometimes caught,
Though never thought worth catching, never sought.
Am I still hid? then let whoever tries
To see me, give it up, and shut his eyes.

Get me — and low and poor thy state will be;
Forget me — and no equal shalt thou see.
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