lost poetry

Sailing through seven seas and more,
hungry we are forever for something else.
And it may be that our ship never really finds any land,
it may be that the tempests never fade;
And though we are traveling lost in time
our clocks tick with each of our heartbeats.

(lost text)

Sailing the seven seas and more,
are we not always wishing to be someone else?
And, alas, our ship finds the isles
baffed up by golden winds and drowned in divine liquor!
It could be that if we stopped (lost text)
(lost text)

the tempests faded and yet our
hearts grieve the darkness that was lost.
(lost text)

The clocks have stopped...

anonymous English poet from the 17th C