In plain words
The poet, to the Lord: O you on whose chest the Lady [Śrī] dwells, ever joined to you! O Lord of the eternal attendants [nityasūris], whom even the gods [Brahmā and the rest] look to as god! O Flawless One, whom the Veda with its Ṛk hymns proclaims! O herdsman, whose form is like a dark rain-cloud laced with gold! Tell me the way to speak your names, with your form in mind, without ever ceasing.