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| Vera Doria, 1932 |
After a short motion picture career and a couple marriages, Doria moved to Shanghai, China, about 1921. She returned to the USA in 1932 from living more than a decade in Shanghai. Doria, now known as Veronica Eyton Wavell, no longer an actress, wrote poetry.
Much of her poetry reflects her strong affinity for spirituality, in particular the Christian religion, though her subject matter varied widely. For instance, during World War II, she composed verses in support of the Allied cause. The following examples show her range.
ENGLAND CAN TAKE IT
In this great New World we’ve heard the call
And the Sons of Freedom are working all;
In plant and factory and full workshop
We’re building a whirring, soaring crop
Of wings that laugh at the Tyrant’s claim
And engines that sing the Tyrant’s shame,
Of fighting ships for the mighty deep,
And ships for cargoes the farmers reap.
England can take it when England must,
Almighty God will reward her trust;
St. George will slay the Dragon again,
And Michael will heal old England’s pain,
The blazing love of the Empire’s sons,
Civilians, and women, behind the guns,
By grace, and a service whose limit’s the sky
Will keep the old flag proud and high.
Lend me your shield, St. Michael,
And give me the valiant word;
For the battle begins, Great Angel:
St. Michael, lend me your sword.
Gird me with holy armour,
The Tempter is on the field;
Breathe strength into me, Contender;
St. Michael, I must not yield.
Hear me celestial soldier,
Who led the angelic host;
O bring me power from the Father,
The Son, and the Holy Ghost.
Oh I long for a home of my own,
A garden and home of my own!
For I’ve been
To tropical countries and green,
To lands where the sun hardly ever is seen,
And I dream
Of a simple small home of my own
On that side of the world which my forebears have known,
Where the flesh of my flesh and the bone of my bone
Were born and were cradled and nourished and grown,
And were part of that race whose first watchword was “home.”
Oh I long for a home of my own!
But I’m reaping the harvest I’ve sown,
And I’ve seen
That the lure which first led me to roam
Brought results of a kind that could never atone
For the dream
Unfulfilled, and the magical tone
Of youth’s song, which has changed to a gray minor drone
In the chant of the wanderer who wanders alone,
Who loves every blossom and even each stone
Of the homeland that’s calling him, calling him home.
Sources: “England Can Take It,” Los Angeles (CA) Times, 7 February 1941, II 4; “Prayer to St. Michael,” Los Angeles (CA) Times, 1 August 1947, 6; “Homesick,” Los Angeles (CA) Times, 15 June 1942, II 4.
Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower, All rights reserved.
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