। ॥ ६७ ॥
In plain words
Your father the Snow-Mountain touched it with a fingertip, out of pure fondness. Śiva tilts it up again and again, restless to drink your lower lip. His hand closes around it — the handle by which he lifts the mirror of your face. Daughter of the mountain, how are we supposed to describe your chin, when there is nothing anywhere it can be compared to?
Close to the Sanskrit
Touched by the Snow-Mountain with his fingertip, out of fondness; lifted up again and again by Girīśa, out of his restless eagerness to drink your lower lip; graspable by Śambhu's hand, the handle of the mirror that is your face — O Daughter of the Mountain, in what manner shall we describe your chin, which is devoid of any comparison?