Well, here is the yellow marguerite: Slender petals of yellow satin falling over a skirt of white silk crepe, a green satin calyx girdle about her waist, and golden petals drooped again from the neck of her low bodice and over her shoulders.
A handsome brunette represented a wine-colored peony in a rich costume of wine-colored velvet and satin.

The petals fell to make the skirt, and rose again from a bell sheathing the neck of her low corsage, and the cap on her dark hair was a copy of the flower.
There, you see how it is done.

But it requires genius to succeed in such an undertaking.

Look at Walter Crane's pictures of human flowers for more suggestions.
Most effective of all was the cachuca, danced by a girl of pure Castilian blood, who was dressed to symbolize the scarlet passionflower.
The room was darkened save where she stood, and her steps and poses were full of Spanish fire and feeling, combined with poetic grace.
Yes, it is over, but the pictures remain as freshly colored as if I saw it all but yesterday.
During the Carnival sentiment reigns supreme--that is, if you have engaged rooms far in advance, and the matter of three daily meals is settled--and portly business men become gallant, chivalrous, and even poetic.

In testimony I offer two verses sent to a lady visitor with a bunch of roses: "We had not thought it was for aught He lingered round us, scanning, But to admire our spring attire, The south wind softly fanning.
"But when we knew it was for you Our charms he sought to capture, All round the bower each budding flower Blushed pink with rosy rapture.
"Lovingly, THE ROSES." George Eliot once said: "You love the roses--so do I! I wish the sky would rain down roses as they rain from off the shaken bush.