Voila, c'est un... Sonnet?

(a)
She is of rare complexion and is rarer of mind,
She is of snowy white skin and of sphinxish thought,
And has piercing blue eyes, those of the kind
That a Duchess or Lady or Queenly one ought.

In lieu of her beauty she impresses insight
Upon friend or neighbor or man with a grin
In concepts and notions, she always is right
Though they not revolve 'round frivolity or gin.

Alas, this fair woman, warmed by life,
Smiling and chuckling, her feet on the ground
Alas, this fair woman be cold as a knife,
Whene'er the subject d'amour comes around.

Sadly, this madamoiselle sets upon with glee,
The unfortunate task of not loving me.

(b) Sonnet? Sonnet.