Heavy Hangs the Helmeted

What is this wicked waning then?
Where wonder once was found?
Featureless the fog unfolds,
For fear and foe to shroud.

Safety, sure and sabeline,
Seems sold on slight of hand.
Heavy hangs the helmeted;
Hell - heavens demand.

Difficult to divine it,
Doused in deep defeat.
Where is the wicked waxing then?
When I do not retreat?