Nācata Śacī Tanaya Gaura Mādhurī Mana Mohe

Śacī’s charming fair son dances. He charms every heart. His form eclipses the golden mountain’s splendor. The hairs of His body stand erect.

The effulgent moon of His gently smiling face showers nectar. How much glistening nectar flows from the corners of His restless eyes?

The soles of His feet mark the rhythms in the dance. His anklets jangle. Seeing His ever-new graceful motions, Kāmadeva is ashamed.

Plunged in a flowing river of bliss, the people of the world sing His glories. Narahari has been cheated of singing those glories. Poor wretched Narahari burns in the flames of repeated birth and death.