Navastakam

O mind, worship Radha, unfathomable in mellows — the fair queen of Vraja's pastureland, dearer than life to the Lifter of the Mountain, who waves millions of her own lives, like heaps of flowers, in worship of his path; who is lovingly fondled with jests by Lalita, her friend dear as life, and thoroughly sprinkled with them by Visakha.

O mind, worship Radha, unfathomable in mellows — she who, in the bower near her own dearest lake, alive with the hum of bees drawn to fragrant blossoms, repeatedly attends, together with Hari, the minister of Cupid, to the business of that intoxicated realm of love.

O mind, worship Radha, unfathomable in mellows — she who, by clever turns of speech, parries the playful advances of that sportive one, her own passion rising with the waves of his sidelong glances; who, tasting the nectar of the blessings bestowed on her by her blooming, smiling sakhis, has reached the very height of loving madness.

O mind, worship Radha, unfathomable in mellows — she who, when the slayer of Agha, having won at dice, smiling and swelling with joy and pride, twice drinks without dispute her bimba-red lips that were the wager, strikes him with a lotus, the corners of her eyes slightly reddened, her hairs standing on end, trembling and smiling.

O mind, worship Radha, unfathomable in mellows — she who, resting her hand on the shoulder of the enemy of Baka, greatly maddened with intimate friendship, gazes on the beauty of the fresh forest as spring rises around them; who joyfully sets at her beloved's ear a fresh young leaf-shoot scattered there in love by Visakha.

O mind, worship Radha, unfathomable in mellows — she who, while Hari feigns sleep on a bed of abundant flowers in a cave of Govardhana hill, steals his flute and even snatches his garland; who, when he, smiling, seizes her close by the neck as she tries eagerly to slip away, restrains her heaving breast with both hands.

O mind, worship Radha, unfathomable in mellows — when the dark one, quickly driving the cows ahead, enters Vraja with all his friends and gazes at her face with dancing eyes that the reeling young women long for, she stirs him all the more with the weight of her own dark sidelong glances, and her rising makes the lotus (Padma) wilt.

O mind, worship Radha, unfathomable in mellows — she who, with the abundance of her ever-rising luster, makes dim the stars that are the cowherd maidens, more than countless in number, though they shine in the rasa dance of ever-brilliant mellow; who, in the blessed sky of Vraja's finest forest, by her movement takes the place of the star Anuradha, shining beside Govinda, the moon.

Whoever, blessed and intelligent, falling flat upon the ground with love, recites this Navastaka clearly and fully, always, with a choked, pleading voice — he, with an overflowing mellow of service, waters with love that nectar-creeper named Radha, on whom the intoxicated bee Mukunda sports and reels, there in the pastoral forest of Vraja.