। ॥ ७४ ॥
In plain words
Mother, the fullness of your breast carries a flawless strand of pearls — pearls born from the temple-globes of the elephant-demon — and the red gleam of your bimba lip has soaked into them from within: like the fame of Śiva who broke the cities, its whiteness run through with the heat of his valour.
Close to the Sanskrit
O Mother, the expanse of your breast bears the spotless necklace-creeper strung together with pearl-gems whose origin was the temple-globes of the elephant-demon, tinged within by the gleams of your bimba-red lower lip — like the fame of the subduer of the cities, intermingled with his valour.