Classic Poem

SHE

Don't let the sun scan me,
Don't let the wind tan me;
Oh, why don't you fan me?
It's awfully warm.

Hast thou no feeling
To see the sun peeling,
My cheeks revealing
Where paint has been?

HE

Thee have I fanned nearly
To death, but you merely
Abuse me sincerely
And still perspire.

Hast thou no reason,
At such a season,
To look for a breeze on
A paltry fan?

SHE

Mark, let us sever
Our love forever!
Thus we'll endeavor
A " coolness " to make.

HE

By George, I'm ready!
By George, I'm willing!
By George, I'm anxious!
Though it don't rhyme.