Diana: Eighth Decade, Sonnet 4

My tears are true. Though others be divine,
And sing of wars and Troy's new rising frame,
Meeting heroic feet in every line,
That tread high measures in the scene of fame,
And I, though disaccustoming my muse,
And sing but low songs in an humble vein,
May one day raise my style as others use,
And turn Elizon to a higher strain.
When re-intombing from oblivious ages
In better stanzas her surviving wonder,
I may opposed against the monster rage
That part desert and excellence asunder;
That she though coy may yet survive to see,
Her beauty's wonder lives again in me.