The dark one's glance is, you would say, a dagger of prema

In plain words

The dark one's glance is, you would say, a dagger of prema. At its striking I was undone; all thought of the milk went from me. Prema has soaked right through the mind; I have gone drunk with it. The cakor craves the moon; the lamp burns the moth. Without water the fish dies; such is the love that is dear to me. Friends, gather two and four together; listen, you knowing women. I know him well: he is the one who roams the bower. The peacock crown on his brow, and that beauty is Giridhārī. For that sweet form Mīrā would be offered up.