। ॥ ९० ॥
In plain words
Your foot never stops giving: to anyone who comes with empty hands it hands over exactly the wealth they were hoping for. It pours out, without stint, the nectar of its own heaped beauty. It is as lovely as a spray of mandāra blossom. Let my soul sink into that flower — the senses are its six legs — and turn into a bee.
Close to the Sanskrit
On this foot of yours — which ceaselessly gives to the destitute wealth matching their hopes, which lavishly scatters the nectar of its heaped beauty, which is lovely as a cluster of mandāra blossoms — may my soul, sinking in, having the sense-organs for its legs, go to the state of the six-footed one.