In plain words
A mother says: She puts on her gold necklet, looks in the mirror, shakes the bangles on her hands and puts on her sari; then, [when he does not come,] she falls into a daze; she touches up her lips, red as the kovvai fruit, steadies herself again and again, and stands babbling the glories of the God of a thousand names. She is falling in love with the matchless one coloured like a great sapphire.