। ॥ १५ ॥
In plain words
Pristine as autumn moonlight, crowned with matted locks that hold the moon, her hands showing the gestures of grace and fearlessness while holding a crystal rosary and a sacred text—how could poems surpassing the sweetness of honey, milk, and grapes ever flow from those who have not even once bowed to you?
Close to the Sanskrit
Pure like autumn moonlight, having a crown of matted locks with the moon, having in her hands boon-giving, protection, crystal rosary, and book—having not even once bowed to you, how indeed do compositions surpassing the sweetness of honey, milk, and grapes manifest for the virtuous?