There on that bed of tender leaves, O lotus-eyed, embrace his hips, his naked hips from whence the girdle drops,
Those hips from whence the garment falls, those loins which are a treasure heap, the fountain and the source of all delight.
Radha would willingly go but she is now so sick with love that she can no longer move. The girl has, therefore, to go once more to Krishna and describe Radha's state.
In secret on every side she sees you
Drinking the honied sweet of her lips.
Where Radha stays now she wilts away,
She may live no longer without your skill,
Again and again she keeps telling her friend,
'O why must Krishna delay to come?'
Of her jewels abundant her limbs she adorns and spreads out her bed—