They set up rival looms across
The room, stretching the weblike threads from beam
To beam and, where the reeds divided them,
Flashing their shuttles through with ardent fingers
While the toothed heddles beat the nap in place.
Stoles tight across their breasts, their bare arms weaving,
They took delight in speed and craftsmanship;
And there upon the looms Tyrian purple
Shaded to lavender and violet-rose,
As though one saw the sun strike passing rain,
Its rainbow ribbon across the sky,
A thousand colors streaming light within it,
Each melting into each where no eye sees
One fade into the other, yet both far ends
Colors of distant hue-gold thread to bind them,
To weave a story of long years ago.

-Ovid -Metamorphoses