सुसीमन्तवेणीं दृशा निर्जितैणींरमत्कीरवाणीं नमद्वज्रपाणीम् ।सुधामन्थरास्यां मुदा चिन्त्यवेणींभजे शारदाम्बामजस्रं मदम्बाम् ॥ ४ ॥
In plain words
Her hair drawn back from a clean bright parting; one glance from her and the doe has lost. Her voice is a parrot at play. Indra bows to her, thunderbolt still in his hand. Her mouth lingers, slow with nectar; her braid is what joy keeps in mind. Ceaselessly I worship Śāradā, the Mother — my own Mother.
Close to the Sanskrit
Her whose braid rises from a beautiful parting, who by her glance has conquered the doe, whose voice is a delighting parrot's, before whom the thunderbolt-handed one bows, whose mouth is slow with nectar, whose braid is contemplated with joy — I worship Śāradā the Mother ceaselessly, my Mother.