In plain words
The cowherd girls, waking a girl who thinks Kṛṣṇa should come to her: O golden vine of the cowherds, who milk herd upon herd of cows young as calves, who march out and fight until their enemies' strength is broken, and fight without a single fault [never striking a foe who turns to flee]! O peahen of the woods, with hips like the hood of a snake in its anthill, come out! All your kin and friends have come into your courtyard and are singing the names of the one whose colour is the rain-cloud, and still you neither stir nor speak. O girl, our treasure, what is it you sleep for? Take it up and heed it, girl of ours.