। ॥ ९ ॥
In plain words
Wine runs out of the clustered kadamba blooms, and the bees break their long fast on it and reel — and it is these bees, drunk, who are fit to sing his praise. To the Lord of the forests: I bow.
Close to the Sanskrit
To him who is to be described by the bees maddened with the feast of the wine streaming forth from the kadamba blossom-clusters — to the Lord of the forests, salutation.