In plain words
On the bank of the Jamunā the gopīs are at play with Hari. Mohan Lāl held Govardhan up, and on his fingernail it shone, O. His body a cloud heavy with rain, the yellow silk dense upon it, at hand and at mouth he holds the flute, O. With a word and with a sign the darling prince called every one of the women, O. Their finery made ready, the women of Braj set out, decked from the nail up to the crest, O. The world's spite and the claim of dharma they bear alike, and say this: no one's regard holds us, O. Hand cymbals in their hands, and on the beat they all sound with one savour, O. Reed pipe, tambour, upaṅg and flute: they thunder like a cloudburst of rain, O. Eyes, words and garments all of one savour; throat and arm, foot and neck, O. In the middle Gopāl the leader shines, the very border of beauty, O. Strength he is, brother of Bal, bent at three places, the joy of the gopīs, O. Every ache of the body and the mind was wiped away: Hari laughed and drew her to his breast, O. Mādhav to the woman, the woman to Mādhav, anointing each other with cova and sandal, O. Such a play broke out upon the earth: to the son of Nanda be reverence, O. Kṛṣṇa at his play and his delight, and Mādho sings in a voice like honey, O. The moon at the full, the night of autumn, and the waking spirit is lifted high, O. Śiv, Sanaka and his brothers, Brahmā and his kind, all of them rain flowers down in clouds, O. Great is the fortune of the women of Gokul; Mīrā touches the feet of the lord, O.