His foot-tip touched it; the rude bone
Glowed through translucent, widely shone
A morning lustre on the palm
Which arched above it.
The angel then summons an attendant, and bids him bear this shapeless tusk to some mortal capable of bringing from it by slow pain and toil the glorious beauty which had shone forth instantaneously at the angelic touch.
Spirit, bear
This ivory to the soul that dare
Work out, through joy, and care, and pain,
The thought which lies within the grain,
Hid like a dim and clouded sun.