As for the mosaic work, no one can say for certain where it was originally set; some even claim that the marble itself was kneaded into shape, the proof being that it melts when placed in a fire (1).

Al-Ḥāfiẓ Ibn ʿAsākir (2) relates: Ibrāhīm ibn Abī al-Layth the scribe—who arrived in Damascus in the year 432 AH—mentioned in a letter of his:

“Then we were ordered to move on, so I left that city for another whose perfections were complete and whose outward beauty matched its hidden core. Its lanes were fragrant, its avenues spacious; wherever I walked I inhaled perfume, and wherever I strolled my eyes beheld something wondrous. When I reached its great mosque, I witnessed there what no describer can portray and no onlooker can truly comprehend. In sum, it is the treasure of the age, the marvel of its time, the wonder of the epoch, the rarity of the ages. Through it Allah—may He be exalted—has established a remembrance that shall never fade and left behind a legacy that can neither be concealed nor effaced.”

Ibn ʿAsākir added:

“One of the recent men of letters among the ḥadīth scholars recited to me, in the congregational mosque of Damascus—may Allah keep it flourishing with His remembrance—[and, while in Damascus, he said] (3):

Damascus—how famed is the beauty of its mosque,
and of the hills that cradle its dwelling-places!
Peerless in perfect loveliness
that the eye beholds in its marvels.
Its soil is wholesome, its land blessed,
born beneath stars of good fortune and joy.
Its mosque, a gathering of every grace,
by which it has outshone the cities in their mosques.
Built with consummate skill was its structure;
may Allah never squander the builder’s toil.
True reports extol its merit, its lofty rank,
delightsome to every listening ear.
Already a marvel before the great fire,
whose flames laid its courtyards waste;
The blaze carried off its splendour—
no hope remains for what has departed to return.
When you ponder the inlaid gems within,
you are certain of the setter’s masterful hand.
Its trees are ever fruitful,
unafraid of any wind that might assail them.
As though planted of emerald green
in soil of gold that fosters their benefit (4).
Therein are fruits that seem ever described,
yet no ripe fruit therein fears decay.
They are plucked by a glance, not by the grasp
of hands, nor gathered for a trader’s stall.
Beneath them lie slabs of marble—
may Allah not sever the hand that quarried them.
The polisher perfected each rounded edge;
upon them the craftsman’s mastery stands revealed.