"Enough to sign," he sighs, "not mine
To read, and still survive."
And while he signs, and signs, and signs,
Its ghost of work upon,
In its red-tape toil the navy to coil,
The Phantom Board sits on:
Essay to seize, your grasp 'twill foil,
Looms, shadowy, and is gone!
Gone but to meet, in order neat,
As ghost-like as before,