Like to the tool that trims the jewels of her toes

Rādhā:
Like to the tool that trims the jewels of her toes,
Gokula's darling grovelled on the ground:
Unceasing tears were flowing down his face,
How many ways my love besought me!

O evil day! for I was proud,--
And now my brazen heart declines to die!
Who would have thought black wrath could be so dangerous,
Or that a jewel could be changed to clay?

I have been luckless in my woman's lot:
My refuge is in death, I was too proud!
Hearken, lady Rāi, says Vidyāpati:
I shall explain the reason of your weeping.