Mystique saturates, gluts the air,Adventure’s even more than rare,Excitement’s everywhere to share,And Novelty’s beyond compare.

Beacon, beacon, lonesome on a hill—Waves run aground, pound ‘round, what a thrill!Water water everywhere crashes,Shore’s not lazy for it mashes, bashes…..Summer’s when tourists traipse o’er to see you,Offering to wipe-wash your dust and mildew;Summer...